One Depp Too Many: In the Underground
by Daemon faerie queen
Summary: Sequel to One Depp Too Far. Old friends are united again as they are stolen out of their homeworlds for an unknown purpose. Can an unusual pirate, a skittish constable and an eccentric chocolatier escape the Underground? No need to have seen Labyrinth.
1. A Story

**A/N: **Here it is at last. The first chapter of the sequel to One Depp Too Far For Mr Wonka - located in the CatCF section. Since none of the characters are the official 'main' in this one, I decided to categorize the story in the world it is set, so apologies to you Labyrinth fans who may expect aspects from the movie. You may get a surprise later on, but there are no official Labyrinth characters. The world, the ideas and some of the 'creatures' is all I will hint at.

To those of you who have followed patiently through ODTF, thanks again and sorry this one's short but it's a bit of a teaser.

A certain character you may recognise in this chapter is from his FIRST movie still, not the recent film...but by reading it you'll probably know that.

Disclaimer: I don't own any character you recognise. I don't own the Labyrinth. Any phrasing you recognise is intentional and belongs to those who wrote the movie scripts. I do own this fanfiction, however, so mitts off!

* * *

**One Depp Too Many: In the Underground**

There are some stories that should never be read aloud. Not least those that upset the soul, those with too many morals for a reader to decide for themselves what is right, or simply those that are so damn long the storyteller loses their voice halfway in.

There is one story, with its various cousins, that should not be read aloud because of _magic_. The story, the Original, is the only one to be found in print. More extraordinary is that it is the only book found in every dimension, a gateway to and from all worlds. In the Original it is the same tale – of a beautiful young woman, probably a princess, fighting her way through an enchanted kingdom to face the corrupt ruler and rescue a dear child.

Whosoever speaks this tale outside of mind is doomed to play the role of the heroine should they be foolish enough to read it to another. Of course, the tale itself…the words written down are not enough. The phrase a reader must vocalise to be affected by the curse can only be discovered by accident or by pure desire for their listener to be removed from the world. A phrase that begins with '_I wish'_.

Naturally, the _beautiful princess_ does not begin with purity of heart. The cursed reader is most often selfish and full of pride, detached or friendless. The Original provides morality, a guard against temptation. The corrupt ruler, one might say, does the world a good service. If the fated adventurer succeeds, they learn a lesson in courage and friendship. If they fail, no more will they inflict their pains upon the world.

However, the branches of this story, these 'cousins', stretch across the universe. No one knows how they appear, since they are not written, but they are dangerous. They do not have the boundaries of the Original; the heroes change; the kingdoms alter; even the tasks may differ; and the opponents? The opponents…they don't follow the rules. What would they care for morality; who succeeds and who fails; what is fair and what isn't?

Sometimes you don't know you're playing the game until it's too late.

* * *

The sun beat heavily onto a courtyard by the sea where a macabre event was taking place. Snare drums tapped and rolled at the back of the crowd, every face of which stared at the official upon the scaffold bellowing out from his scroll.

The accused stood quietly nearby, wearing a meek smile that seemed half through fear and half utter denial. He was a colourful scamp, not least from his clothing – a hotchpotch creation dipped in mud and decorated with trinkets. He gazed wistfully across an audience of vultures, his dirty hands bound tightly in front of him.

The official boomed out the name of this character and the latter frowned. Those in the front row caught the indignant mutter of "that's _Captain…Captain…_" The official either did not hear or ignored him and continued:

"You have been charged, tried and convicted for your wilful commission of crimes against the Crown. Said crimes being numerous in quantity and sinister in nature. The most egregious…"

At this point the crowd whispered amongst themselves. They'd heard all this before. The official listed various crimes, but upon reaching several deviant impersonation counts, the attention returned. Even the convict allowed himself a giggle at his mischiefs.

"…sailing under false colours, arson, kidnapping…"

On the man droned, barely aware of what he was reading.

"…looting, poaching, brigandage, pilfering, I wish the goblins would come and take him away - eh?"

Silence. Everyone looked to the official.

The accused raised an eyebrow.

Flushing, the official coughed and checked his scroll for further tampering. He indicated to the guards beside the accused. They gave him a puzzled glance before they moved the condemned man into position and slipped the noose around his throat.

The official resumed, angrily.

"For depravity, depredation and general lawlessness. For these crimes you are sentenced on this day to behung by the neck until dead."

The purple-faced official screwed up his scroll and turned to the accused.

There was a disturbance in the crowd as someone pushed forwards. Some sort of bird circled the sky. In this story it should have been a parrot.

"Hang him," cried the official. "Hang him _right now_!"

The lever was pulled. The floor dropped from beneath the accused's feet. The crowd gasped.

An empty noose swung back and forth. One minute the pirate had been there, the next – gone. At the head of the crowd, a young blacksmith by the name of Turner sheathed his sword and stared, stunned, at the absence of whom he meant to rescue.

This was the day they would never remember as the day they twice almost hung Captain Jack Sparrow…


	2. Father and Son

**A/N:** I have a lot of plans for this one. The style is a bit inspired by POTC2, so apologies that there will be quite a few darker aspects as the characters reveal even more about their inner selves, including this chapter. I do hope this fic to be as silly and fun as the last one too when I can manage it, but the plot and adventure are what counts this time around. Here it is, chapitre deux...

* * *

"N-no D-daddy, p-please no!"

The boy trembled and shielded his eyes. Or at least he tried to as much as anyone wearing a cage of metal serving as a brace could.

"I have to, boy. You need to learn a lesson!" the father roared. Towering over the child, he clutched a raggy teddy bear by its soft throat. "It's for your own good."

Sobbing, the boy watched as the parent tore out pieces of stuffing from the bear's belly.

"This is what the world will do to you if you carry on with these _fancies_," the man snapped savagely. "First it's sweets and now lies! Lies, Willy. You're a disgrace. An abomination!"

Little Willy Wonka choked on tears and metal.

"No Daddy, I s-swear, it's the truth! They're my friends. Please!"

Wilbur Wonka shook a handful of cotton wool in his clenched fist.

"Imaginary friends? They're as bad as these foolish toys. How's a boy to be a man if he's allowed to cling like a simpering idiot to a worthless object? Do you want to look like a sissy, Willy? Well?"

"I-," Willy stuttered.

"Hmm?"

His father's gaze seared into him. A flame of retribution stirred.

"I- I don't care!" little Wonka screamed.

As his voice echoed about the stone walls, the boy crouched on the floor in terror of his father's reaction.

But Wilbur did not shout. Instead, he knelt next to Willy and set the bear aside. When he spoke again, it was softly. He reached out.

"Take my hand, Willy. Take it and if you swear you are not being false, tell me of your friends."

Willy sniffed, afraid to look at his father. He took his hand but said nothing.

"Come on, boy. Stand up for what you believe," said Wilbur. "Give me a name. Real people have names."

The little boy's gaze turned to the floor.

"Jack," he mumbled. As an adult he would learn to hate that volume of speech.

Wilbur Wonka the dentist frowned.

"You say you went to another world, and one of your friends is called…_Jack_?"

His son quavered in his grip.

"Boy, if anything more condemns your story as a lie it's the fact that people from other worlds would surely not have such a common name as Jack. You are a _liar_, a deceitful little liar!"

"No!" Willy wailed. "He's real! He's real! He's a pirate and he has beads in his hair and he's real!" Before the father could stop him, he blurted: "And there are others too. There's Ichabod and – and –."

Willy stopped. Not only because something had clicked in his mind that something was amiss, but also because his father had let go of his wrist and was listening intently.

"Yes, boy? Go on."

Willy frowned.

"You believe me?" he asked quietly.

"A name like, what was it, Ichabod? That's a little unusual for an invention. A name like that would belong to a respectable profession. Well, Willy? What does he do for a living?"

"Um, he's…he's a sort of police officer. A constable," the boy said awkwardly.

"I see," Wilbur replied. A flicker of calculation lit his eyes. "I imagine he'd have a strong surname too? Eh?"

"Y-yes sir. I suppose. Crane. He's called Crane."

Wilbur Wonka smiled. It wasn't a pleasant sight, even if he was a dentist. He took Willy's hand again, gentler still.

"You said there were others? Prove to me you speak the truth and tell me who else you were going to say."

Little Willy dared a glance into Wilbur's eyes and he gasped. He felt a lurch in his stomach as a picture flashed in his mind; a picture of Constable Crane.

Something was wrong. Everything was out of place. The memories were at the wrong time. He saw himself, and he wasn't a child. He was a full-grown man. He was well-dressed, no harsh metal brace, and he – good god – had a funny haircut.

This person in front of him…this was wrong. His father wouldn't have followed these leads. It was like they were trying to get something out of him. They already had. He wasn't going to let them, whoever they were…

"Stop!"

William opened his eyes when his own voice sounded through his mind. He was in a dark, stone cell. Perching opposite him was a striking and dangerous woman. She smirked at him with thin lips. A gold eye and a silver eye shimmered back at the chocolatier. She brushed back a strand of black fountaining hair.

"Where am I?" What in the-," Mr Wonka began, until he focused on her. "You! You're the lady who was in my factory. You're -." He scowled at her. "You're in a lotta trouble. Shame on you ma'am. Kidnappin's a serious offence, ya know?"

"Pity," said the woman, her tone a southern English. "We were doing so well, Willy. You almost spilled everything. It's surprising, the power of pain. Although it could've been worse."

She held out her palm and a crystal globe materialised in its centre.

William shrank back from it. When he summoned the courage to look at it, he saw the little boy he had been a moment before. He watched in horror as the scene in the crystal showed the father strike the boy to the floor.

His captor let the orb slip through her fingers. It shattered on the stone but the glass melted away like snow.

"Why are you doing this?" William asked. "Do you want money?"

She chuckled cruelly.

"I think we both know I'm not the sort of person who needs money. Besides, you already gave me something."

She straightened up and stalked towards a door that seemed to appear only when she brushed her hand across the wall.

"Constable Ichabod Crane," she laughed.

Hardly knowing what he'd gotten into, William desperately sought answers through questions.

"Beggin' your pardon, lady, but I gave you more than that. I gave you not one but two names. If it happens that you forgot the other then bravo for me."

The woman paused, the cloak of raven feathers on her back rippling at her halt.

"Two you did tell me, but only one was the gift. The pirate I already have."

She passed through the doorway. This action would have been slightly less sinister if she'd actually opened it. After she was through, the redundant portal faded away.

Alone in the dungeon, the world-renowned maker of chocolates was left to reflect on what he'd been told. It took a minute to process, then:

"What?"


	3. The Queen's Game

**A/N:** Here's a longer one to keep you going while I work. The strange woman is not a Labyrinth character, she is mine, so don't worry about whether you've seen the movie. Thanks to all you wondrous reviewers. If you haven't done so already, please do and let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: I don't own various bits of dialogue from Sleepy Hollow that I have used to integrate lines into.

* * *

Jack Sparrow was at this moment inspecting a stone gargoyle that looked rather like a pig. He had found himself in this odd courtyard with no one around to ask why he was there or how he'd arrived in the first place. 

In truth he hadn't really thought to look for any natives, particularly since the last thing he remembered before being here was a blur as he dropped through the hangman's trapdoor. If this was a place for the dead, maybe it was best that he lay low in case he bumped into any old 'friends'.

Furthermore, this place was so unlike any he had been to that he doubted he would be able to speak the language. He was not one to say he was a fluent linguist, but to have the capability of asking his three most important questions in no less than forty-seven tongues was something he valued.

These three questions being: "Have I met you before?"; "Which way to my ship?"; and "Where's the nearest establishment serving rum?"

This courtyard appeared to join onto a wing of an immense structure, a castle perhaps. Its ground was brown as oatcakes and crazy-paved; a low wall ran the outer edges. The way out was a wooden door with iron reinforcements, which was set into the main body of the building.

Jack leapt back after an over-enthusiastic bout of poking caused the snout of the sculpture to crumble off. He looked about to ensure no one had seen this act of vandalism before sauntering over to the courtyard wall.

His eyes widened. Over the wall was a sheer drop to a crude thatched city below. Beyond that stretched miles of waste, forest and sand-coloured maze.

"That's interesting."

* * *

In the attic of the Van Tassel house in Sleepy Hollow, Constable Ichabod Crane crawled above a sea of his scattered notes. His assistant, little orphan Masbath watched with an expression of boredom. 

"Doctor Lancaster," Crane read, picking up one piece of paper. He set it on a box nearby.

"Reverend Steenwyck," he said, taking another from the floor. He put it beside the other.

Ichabod frowned and turned on his knees in search of a lost note.

"Hmm."

He walked on hands and knees to Masbath and lifted the boy's left foot. He took the paper trapped beneath it and glanced at it. His lips moved as he traced the phrase.

"Masbath, this is really not the time for jokes. I understand you have a lot of grief to manage…the loss of parents to such a violent means is doubtless an unmatchable blow; but this does not make my job any easier."

"Sir?" asked Masbath, puzzled.

Ichabod raised an eyebrow.

"You did not write 'I wish the goblins would come and take me away' on this piece of paper?"

"I don't know why I would, Mr Crane."

The constable sighed and threw the note away. He tapped Masbath's right foot and found the paper he wanted.

"Notary Hardenbrook…and Magistrate Philipse -." Ichabod gazed at the name as he continued his thoughts. "Who tried to cut and run, and lost his head."

Tossing away the name, he got to his feet and paced the attic room.

"Four frightened men arguing together on the very night Magistrate Philipse was killed…"

He rubbed his hands together.

"There is conspiracy here."

The constable moved to the writing desk and took up the quill. Just before he could put ink to paper, he noticed two words at the bottom of the page. The urge to read them aloud was overwhelming.

"'_Right now'_? Masbath, have you -?"

At that moment a gust of wind blew the shutters open. White light flooded through the panes. The papers billowed all over.

"It's the horseman!" cried Masbath.

"It can't be," Ichabod shouted over the wind. "It's broad daylight."

A raven flew in through the open window.

"It's a devil!" the young boy yelped and bolted for the door. He flung it open and all at once the wind dropped. The shutters ceased rattling.

Masbath turned, petrified.

"Mr Crane?"

The attic was empty but for a few papers fluttering to the ground.

* * *

Transfixed by the landscape view, and a little sickened at the lack of ocean, the pirate captain did not notice the point where he was not alone. 

"Do you like my kingdom, Jack Sparrow?"

Jack pulled away from the low wall and pivoted about to face the addresser. One dart of his eyes took in enough to realise he was talking to a female of the wild sort, and she was almost as much of a decorative mess as he.

He also couldn't help but notice she was showing a similar amount of cleavage to a woman of Tortuga, but with a leather rather than frilly bodice.

_Of course, the devil had_ _to be a woman._

He glanced again at the scene past the wall.

"Could do with a tad more water in my hon'rable opinion," he answered.

She smiled, showing teeth so pointed that Jack immediately checked his own set when she had walked past him.

"You'll want to know where you are, I expect?" she said, her gaze upon the land. Without waiting for a reply she resumed, "You are not dead. Merely cursed."

Jack rolled his eyes.

"What is it about me that makes me so curse-able?" he grumbled. "So, I'd suppose you're going to tell me what this curse is? Who am I to thank for putting it on my humble self?"

"It was the speaker at your execution who sent you here. The curse itself is a task; a quest. But the quest was refused by the one who is meant to run it."

"Meaning?"

"The man who should attempt your rescue ignored the offer and has doomed you to my service. I am to turn you into a goblin." She turned and fixed her discordant eyes upon him. They harboured a sadistic amusement.

Jack twitched nervously.

"A goblin?"

"Yes."

"Little fuzzy things, big ears, bad teeth?" he winced, measuring what he thought to be a goblin's size and shape between his hands.

"I don't have to do it," said the Goblin Queen.

Jack cheered up considerably.

"Well, thank you very much," he replied, putting his hands together in gratitude. "I'll be on my way then."

He turned to make a hasty getaway and walked right into her.

"Oh."

His efforts to lean back almost toppled him.

"I won't transform you if you give me something in return," she hissed.

"And what might that be?"

"If you tell me what I need to know, I'll give you the chance to run the quest that your curser refused, to save yourself. If you succeed, you can leave. Fail, and you remain here."

Jack swallowed and tossed the thought in his mind. Having come to a decision, he grinned nervously at her.

"What is it you're wanting to know?"


	4. Hours on the Clock

**A/N:** Yay, new chappie. Sorry for the slowness but I only have time to write at weekends at the moment. Also another reason to post this chapter, I've set up a Pirates of the Caribbean RPG that is based after Curse of the Black Pearl...running as though Dead Man's Chest doesn't happen. I may change it once World's End is out but for now it's done this way for maximum fun. Seriously needing characters. Existing ones or ones you make up too. All we have are Jack, Barbossa's monkey and the dog with the keys, lol! Seeing as most of you are total Jack obsessives that read this, I thought I'd fish for people who wanted to adventure. It's already underway and Jack himself is awaiting fellow roleplayers. Linky is on my profile seeing as they won't let me put it in here, lame. So yeah, feel free to have a nosey.

Anyways, on with the story...

* * *

Amongst the coarse grasses of a dusty heath, three men were rousing. A cream-coloured sun shone artificially over the land, its light mingling with a ticklish breeze. The distance between each person was such that it seemed ridiculous not to be aware of each other. Even so, they were in for a mutual shock. 

Constable Ichabod Crane had been quite willing to accept that this was, all in all, one of his more pleasant dreams. That is, until he took in the sight of an ornate brigand running full pelt towards him and shouting in an alien language.

"Bodders! Wonka!"

Crane stumbled backwards and into an odd-looking man in a top hat and tails. They both squeaked in alarm, but the smartly clad man also seemed to be more bothered about the incoming dirty pirate. It was a strange sort of dance they made, scrambling and spinning past one another, on and up some unknown hill, trying to put the other man in front.

The pirate eventually gave up trying to approach them and stood his ground. He cupped his hands about his mouth and called to the retreating characters.

"Oi! When you two've finished 'orsin around, I knows a man who wants to ask you some questions. Name of Captain Jack Sparrow. Ringin' any bells?"

Ichabod turned to the man in the coat and tails who was currently hiding behind him.

"Excuse me, but do you _know _that person?"

"Yeah," came a reply like a childish whine. "And as a matter o' fact so do you."

The constable scoffed.

"I should say not, sir. No power on earth would cause me to forget having met someone as … degenerate as that." He paused and puzzled a moment before adding, "But _you _know him? Is he, to your knowledge, dangerous?"

Mr Wonka laughed.

"Oh goodness no. He's super. You didn't always get along with him so well, but he's certainly an inspiration."

Crane gave the look of a man in the company of imbeciles.

"Putting aside your belief that I know either of you," he said, "why is it that you are keeping as much distance from him as you can?"

William straightened up, a little embarrassed.

"Well, you see, kinds like Jack over there are people persons. He seems to be even scungier and sweatier than last time. And ya know what people persons sometimes like to do? They like to _hug _other people. This is a priceless suit!"

Seeing Ichabod's lack of empathy, Mr Wonka grumbled and wandered back down the hill. He felt a little awkward without his cane, but he travelled easy enough. Near the base of the mound, he waggled his latex-covered fingers in a wave of greeting.

"Wonderful to see you again, Mr Sparrow, sir."

Captain Jack grinned, gold caps twinkling.

"You got an inkling as to where we are?" asked the chocolatier.

"I thought it was Hell until you two popped up," said Jack. "Can't be no such place with a eunuch and a virgin."

He smirked.

William sucked his teeth at the insult.

"I am not a -," bellowed Crane from halfway up the hill, but trailed off when he didn't know of which he was being accused.

The pirate chuckled.

"'As 'e got 'is memory back or summat?"

Mr Wonka shook his head.

"Nah, but I suspect there's a little part of him that senses something familiar otherwise I'd think he'd have run away or keeled over by now."

"Agreed."

Ichabod ambled to the bottom of the hill. He was about to speak when there was a crackle as of lightning and She stood there before them.

Out of nowhere the breeze had evolved into a light gale, causing the humans to squint as their hair and clothes tremored. Mr Wonka only just grabbed his hat in time.

The queen's raven cloak appeared translucent; a rippling, silky mass splitting out into thick strands of darkness. Her black skirts were the only material that defied the winds and hung silent to her ankles.

"Who is she?" Ichabod hollered.

"The Goblin Queen," said Jack.

"Pfft," said Wonka.

She glared icily at the chocolatier before speaking over the howling wind.

"These are the borders of my labyrinth, which you must pass to return home. Each of you have been summoned here at the will that should you fail in your quest, you will suffer transformation and be bound to my services."

William snorted.

"_I _wasn't summoned. You waltzed right in and took me as I was minding my own beeswax!"

The queen smiled, her sharp teeth peeking out from under her top lip.

"For some reason I've yet to discover, but I'm sure you'll work out, your fate was tied to Jack Sparrow's." Her eyes lit with a curious anger at the sound of the pirate's name. "Though he was the one wished to my realm, I was allowed to place another player in the game."

"Er…d-did I hear something about a …transformation?" Constable Crane stammered. "What does that mean exactly?"

"It means she'll turn you into a goblin," Jack answered, grimacing.

At his voice, the queen whirled to face the pirate with a maddened ferocity.

"Yes, which is a state you're desperately close to, Jack. Since I have promised you are to run the labyrinth too, I cannot go back on my words. However, in light of your trickery, you will be given a shorter amount of time than your companions to reach the end of the Labyrinth."

Mr Wonka pulled a face.

"There's a time limit too? That's seriously warped."

"Quite," said the queen.

Three crooked cuckoo clocks fizzled into view around her. One gold; one the shining tones of oyster shell; and one black. Unlike the norm, each one had thirteen hours on its face.

"Normally only one person runs the Labyrinth and they are granted thirteen hours in which to complete it. I enjoy variation. For three of you, I give thirty-nine hours and the journey will be longer. Jack, unfortunately, gets thirty-six hours before I claim him."

"Ta," the pirate mocked.

"A further rule," she continued. "The law of the world here is that I must have a prisoner in my castle. Without balance, the Labyrinth will not permit the players to enter. So, you will each take it in turns in the dungeons and two of you will travel at a time."

Ichabod coughed timidly, for the moment blanking out all visions involving long journeys and murky cells.

"Pardon my ignorance but where is this Labyrinth?" he asked.

The queen stepped aside and swept her arm out, gesturing over the endless open fields. Only yards away, the scene began to blur as though there were a layer of pixels coating the world. The 'pixels' swelled like popcorn and dissipated, revealing a stretch of earth nestling at the foot of a great maze of stone walls. Beyond this, the land rose and fell, giving glimpses of forests and fortresses; small mountains, and masses of water that made Jack wish he'd never complained.

"Anything else?" Sparrow asked, gulping.

"Your time starts when you enter the maze," she informed. "I have had the company of the pirate and the chocolate-maker, and so my captive for the first hour will be Mr Crane. Until we meet again, gentlemen."

The Goblin Queen faded like a projection along with the timepieces, leaving the three to stare dumbfounded at the journey before them.

"Well," Jack sighed as the wind dropped. "Better get started then, eh? Sooner we can all go 'ome."

The word 'home' turned sour on the pirate's tongue. For a second he imagined the bristling of rope against his neck. He shivered and blinked the thought from his mind.

"Cam' on then," he said, beaming at Mr Wonka. Bemused, he added, "Where's Bodders? She can't have taken 'im already. The clock ain't started."

William cleared his throat and indicated the limp heap of Ichabod in the grass.

"Oh," said Jack. "Carrying it is then."


	5. Catching Up

"This is ludicrous. This wall must go on for miles and I can't see an entrance anywhere!"

Ichabod threw up his arms. Having regained consciousness, he was quickly making up lost time by pacing about and ranting at the problems at hand.

The pirate and the chocolatier, however, had perched themselves nearby on the wall of a raised pond.

"What's the hurry, constable?" Jack called. "She said the game starts once we're inside. How's about we figure out what we've got ourselves into, eh?"

Mr Wonka frowned at Jack.

"I thought you were the one rushin' off to get this thing over with," he said.

"Aye, but that was before I realised a re-acquaintance would be wise without a countdown, savvy?"

Ichabod folded his arms and wandered back towards them. He pulled a face at the murky water behind them but sat down also.

"Well don't let's make it so long that we need to sample any of that," he grumbled, nodding at the pond.

"Too right," said Jack. "Smells like a dwarf's pissed in it or somethin'."

The constable looked revolted and leaned forwards to address Wonka, who was sitting the other side of the pirate.

"Are you sure I'm on friendly terms with a man this crude?" he hissed.

Jack chuckled.

William sighed and fumbled in his coat pocket. He pulled out various coloured objects the shape of marbles, returning them until he found a green one. He offered it to Ichabod.

"Eat this."

"What is it?" the constable said suspiciously.

"I ain't gonna poison ya," said Mr Wonka, rolling his eyes. "We need ya to help us with the maze thingy. Just eat it. It'll bring back what you're missin'."

Ichabod stared at the sweet, mulling the proposal over. He took a deep breath then took it and put it in his mouth.

His eyes snapped wide open. Jack caught his arm for he nearly toppled into the pond.

"Swallow it, Mr Crane!" William squeaked.

Ichabod gulped and coughed. His expression was wild for a moment and then colour returned to his cheeks, pale as they were. He peered up at his companions who gave looks of moderate concern.

Crane made a small smile.

"So much for going back to our own worlds and staying there," he said. "What happened this time? Did an insane woman get hold of one of your machines, Mr Wonka?"

"Bodders!" Jack beamed. He turned to the chocolatier. "Do tell, mate. How did you manage that?"

William sniffed haughtily.

"My dear unhygienic friend, it's terribly simple. I never erased his memory in the first place 'cause that's impossible. What I _did _do was lock a certain amount of it away, which was then unlocked again by the sweet I just gave him."

"The key to Bodders's brain," Jack smirked. "No wonder it's so tiny."

Ichabod glared at the pirate.

"Mr Sparrow, if you weren't bound by a curse that made you invincible, I'd have half a mind to drown you where you sit."

"Well, you see, I'm not exactly-," Jack began, index fingers pointing skywards as he explained.

Or rather as he _ceased _explaining when he decided that, for now, it would be best not to tell them that the plot with the Aztec gold had been resolved.

"I say," Ichabod continued, ignoring Jack anyway. "Have you lost your cane, Mr Wonka?"

The chocolatier looked glum.

"Yeah. That moody old witch startled me and I dropped it back in the factory. Could be worse, I guess. Least it's not my hat."

Jack glared murderously at the ground.

"This is the second time I've been whumped out of my world without my 'at," he growled. "An' I don't even 'ave me effects this time."

Ichabod scanned Jack's belt with its empty cutlass sheath and pistol holster. He pointed to a small octagonal box that was clipped to the middle of the belt.

"What's that?"

Jack looked down to see his beloved compass.

"Oh!"

He lifted it as far as it would go on its chain and hugged it.

"A compass! That should be useful for keeping in the right direction," Ichabod stated happily.

Sparrow beamed.

"Much more better with _my _compass. It can 'elp with a lot more than getting you where you need to be."

"Oh?" the constable wondered sceptically. "Where does it point?"

Jack prised the lid open. His grin drooped.

The needle was spinning around as though it were possessed.

"Er…" he flailed about for words, snapping the compass shut before anyone else could see. "More north than north, or something. Doesn't matter. Not important."

Ichabod scratched his chin in thought.

"I've left my coat behind too. Back in Sleepy Hollow, I'd surmise. I just hope it doesn't get cold and, if it's just me and my pistol to protect us, that there aren't monsters in this labyrinth."

"Now that Mr Crane's scared the pants off everyone, are we gonna talk about how the heck we got here?" Mr Wonka grumbled.

"Didn't Little Miss I-Love-Goblins say we were summoned 'ere?" said Jack. "She told me who sent me, though I reckon 'e was conned. He read some strange stuff out on that scroll of 'is. Either of you get nabbed with a scroll?"

Mr Wonka shook his head.

"I already said she came into my factory with no warning and _bam! _I was here."

Ichabod coloured a bit.

"I…think I may have been tricked into reading my own summoning. I thought my assistant had become disturbed and had felt it apt to write about goblins."

A guilty silence passed between them. Jack broke it.

"All right. Seein' as we can't find out more of what's going on yet, what say we go look for that door?" he suggested.

The others nodded and got to their feet.

"Bodders, you go that way and Mr Wonka, you go that way," the pirate ordered, his indicating hands crossing.

"What way are you goin'?" asked William.

"Up," said Jack and ran at the wall.

He leapt up and clutched the crooked stones with his fingers. Then he dug his boot toes into the cracks of mortar. Slowly and a little unsurely, he began to climb.

Ichabod had only travelled a few feet in his appointed direction when he noticed a large effigy standing against the wall. It was a menacing looking sculpture of a panther walking upright, jaws open and snarling, paws reaching out.

_That wasn't there before_, he thought.

Puzzled, he moved forward to touch the statue, wondering if it was an elaborate lever mechanism such as those he'd seen in castles.

At an inch away from touching it, a stone paw suddenly shot out and latched onto Ichabod's wrist.

Too scared to scream, Crane looked up into the gaping mouth of the stone beast, and fell.


	6. The Way Through

**A/N: **Arg, sorry lateness again...three weeks of lateness so three weeks of sorry! I've been rather side-tracked. I promise I won't give up on this story. I won't give up on Goodnight Starshine either, it just might take a long while to get around to. In other news, I'm also writing my other fic 'Heartless Requiem'. Idk what people will think, I don't really like writing in first person but we'll see what happens. Extra note: why doesn't the 'add ruler' bit work any more. I keep having to put stupid dashes everywhere.

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Crane rolled along a floor of marble. The last thing he remembered was what he could only think of as the sensation of 'tumbling upwards', as though an invisible hand had pulled him by the collar through the mouth of the panther.

Getting to his hands and knees, Ichabod lifted his head to face a giant hindpaw thick with black fur. The constable swallowed and cowered up at the daunting figure of the living replica of the statue.

It looked like a panther, only it stood like a human and was wearing an almost Roman suit of armour and a feather head-dress. This would have been comical were the cold eyes of the beast not searing into him.

Ichabod rose to his feet and stepped back. Once he could see the creature made no advance on him, he took a minute to note his surroundings.

It was a small room of dark green marble with no windows or doors save for a great wooden gate behind the panther guardian. There wasn't even a trapdoor anywhere to show how he had got in.

Somewhat hesitantly, the constable approached the gate from the side of the beast.

The panther guard swung around and barred his way.

"_This is not the way through._"

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Mr Wonka had only walked a few yards and had already given up his search for an entrance. He turned and called up to the pirate who had just reached the top of the wall.

"Can ya see a way down, Mr Sparrow?"

"Nope!" Jack shouted back, then muttered to himself, "Can't see bugger all actually."

He began to make his way down and as Sparrow's law would have it, the next creeper he happened to grasp made a shrubbish groan and gave way. Jack landed flat on his back in a shower of torn weeds and stone fragments.

"What was over there?" William questioned as though he had no clue that in actual fact the human body does _not _have the elasticity to slip off a thirteen foot wall and leap joyously back into action.

"Nothing," was the disgruntled reply.

"Oh poppycock, there surely can't be _nothin' _there."

Jack raised an eyebrow after he'd picked himself up.

"All right. What do you call thick white mists dropping endlessly into the absence of anything in particular?"

"Um..."

Before an answer could be reached, Jack gave a look of alarm and darted over to where Ichabod had been a moment before.

In the middle of the path skirting the walls was a life-sized stone sculpture of the constable.

The panicked pirate skittered around the object, hands flailing between waving in the air and clutching at his scalp – anything but daring to touch the statue in case he damaged it.

Peering into the grey face that was frozen in an expression of horror, Jack shouted, "Wake up, Bodders!"

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Meanwhile, where Ichabod believed himself to be, he was finally overcoming his dread of the great armoured cat in his path.

"Then what is the way?" he asked.

The beast's eyes glimmered. It brought its left arm around and held it suspended in front of the constable. A shining silver armguard spanned from the paw to the elbow.

The guardian rotated his arm so that its clenched palm faced downwards. A wing-like plate of segmented metal extended from the armguard's underside and on its shining surface played a scene from Ichabod's past.

He saw himself weak and troubled, speaking to a young woman whom he held very dear – Katrina.

'_I was seven when I lost my faith…' _his reflection said.

'_What _do_ you believe in?' _Katrina asked.

'_Sense and reason. Cause and consequence.'_

The image, though short, ended and the wing shot back inside the beast's armguard.

The constable frowned. What was it trying to tell him?

"The way through is by sense and reason?" he wondered.

The guardian simply stared at him.

"My belief in sense and reason?" he added. "Sense and reason tells me that I am dreaming. That you do not exist…"

A low growl came from the panther.

"But," Ichabod said hurriedly, "since you are, I must consider that my sight is faulty, for you cannot be a large animal of the Felidae species _and _walk and speak as a man. So, this suggests you may be a human playing tricks."

Another growl.

"All right, not a man…but…" Something clicked. "But not a real panther either."

The guardian straightened back into his original position and watched Ichabod silently.

"If I were to go from where I started, I am in fact not even in this room, for how could I have got here? My belief is that I am standing here talking to a statue…a lever mechanism for a door I otherwise was not able to see!"

The elation he felt at coming to a conclusion did not last. To tell oneself that a beast that could easily tear your throat out was no more than stone was a different matter from seeing it.

Ichabod swallowed and walked up to the panther guardian. Barely bringing himself to look, he reached out and placed one hand on the cat's shoulder plate and the other on the furry bicep of its left arm.

To his relief, the creature did nothing. It had not even moved.

Ichabod strained with all his might to push the beast around. As though it were on a turntable, the guardian slowly swivelled to the left. There was an echoing _click_, followed by a _clunk_, and the great gates yawned inwards.

Crane gave a cry of glee and looked to the guardian. It was merely a statue.

The room began to crumble.

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Jack and Mr Wonka spun around as the wall nearby grated open, revealing the entrance to the labyrinth.

The pirate and the chocolatier exchanged glances of utter bafflement.

There was a crackling sound. Jack yelled as something grabbed his wrist. His gaze shot to the statue of Ichabod. Where the stone right arm had been was a live human hand inside a torn shirt sleeve.

"Wonka! Help!" cried Jack.

William did the only thing he could think of to do. He ran back to the pond, brought back a pail of the filthy water and flung it over the statue.

The dusty rock soaked in the liquid and took on the consistency of dry mud. With one tentative poke to the sculpture's forehead from Jack, the stone fragments crumbled away and revealed a shaken Constable Crane.

Ichabod coughed and gasped in air, releasing Jack's wrist as he did so.

"Good thinking, Mr Wonka," said Sparrow. "But where'd you get the bucket?"


	7. Tricks

**A/N: **So sorry for the immense wait. I'm not giving up on this story but, alas, my course writing; repetitive strain; incessant Guild Wars playing; oh and my RPG (see my profile, if you're a POTC fan, do join up!); amongst other things takes up all my time. Any questions already asked, I shall try to reply to some day. Sincere apologies and hope you enjoy this slightly shorter but needed chapter.

* * *

Having dealt with the mysterious bucket, which had popped out of existence the moment it was noticed, the companions stepped through the gates of the Labyrinth.

"I don't know exactly what it was you did, Bodders, but nice work," said Jack.

The twittering of the birds answered him.

Both he and Mr Wonka turned about, looked around them and checked the outside of the gates. Once again, Crane was nowhere to be seen.

"We've started the game," muttered the pirate. "She's taken 'im."

Wonka sighed.

"Well goshdarnit, this really is a nutty predicament," he said. "I got no clue why this has happened but we'd better press on. Only thirty-nine hours to go!"

"Even less for me," Jack grumbled, hurrying along what looked like a never-ending path towered by walls each side.

William frowned.

"Why is that anyhow?"

"Dunno," replied Jack, not looking Wonka in the eyes. "Just 'as something against me, perhaps?"

They walked on for some time without word. The road did not bend and the horizon was no closer.

"Ya know, I'm not very impressed with the method of design for this area of maze," Mr Wonka said huffily. "It's not exactly _nouveau _to do the circular loop inside a square framework and make you believe you're always goin' straight."

Jack stopped. He cracked his knuckles at his sides.

"Are you saying, Mr Wonka, that not only have we been travelling in a directly circular route, but you also knew the circular motion of our perambulations and failed to mention that we are in fact going around in circles?"

Mr Wonka thought this over, a slip of his tongue poking out as he searched the brim of his hat for a reply.

"Yep," he said, beaming.

"I thought that patch of moss looked familiar."

* * *

Crane awoke in discomfort, feeling the weight of his body pressuring his wrists and ankles. His eyes opened and took in the image of a most welcome visitor.

"Katrina…?"

He groaned and noticed the sudden jingling of chains that prevented him from moving.

The young woman was pale and distraught. She hurried forwards and cupped his face in her hands.

"Oh, Ichabod, what happened?"

"I, that is, I'm not sure -, where am I?" he stuttered, seeing the sombre walls of the cell.

Katrina's eyes welled with tears.

"I found you in your room. You were sick with fever, crying out all sorts of strange things."

"I was?"

She nodded, fingers curled to caress his cheek.

"Father thought you'd taken on the madness. Working too hard. We brought you to the Masbaths' basement to confine you safely."

Ichabod winced in painful confusion.

"Makes no sense. What was I saying for you to think me mad?"

Katrina made no jest about her answer.

"You spoke of another world. Like a dream, where you had to escape some terrible place before time ran out. You kept calling out to people with strange names like…like Mr Winker?"

"Wonka." He said it without hesitation.

"Yes. Were you dreaming? Oh please say you were only in a deep realm of sleep. Then I can tell everyone and we can go home." Hope flushed in her face.

The constable sighed.

"Perhaps I was…but it all seemed so real. Maybe some part of me wished it were so. Very odd." He raised his eyebrows and whispered to himself. "To admit that would be like admitting to acts of masochism."

Katrina slipped her arms around him and held him tightly.

"You were shouting a lot about some man named Edward too. Is he a brother to you?" she wondered. "You seemed so concerned."

Even if it were a dream, he couldn't remember wishing someone else were sharing their predicament, kidnapped by that awful…

"No, not a brother," Ichabod replied. "He was -." He laughed a little. "He was a young man with scissors for hands. Gentle man, not a harmful bone in his body."

"Scissors for hands?" she gasped. "Why, where on earth did he come from?"

"Another world. Like ours, but ahead in time I think."

As Ichabod held in his mind the forlorn but kindly image of Edward Scissorhands, Katrina squeezed his hand sharply.

"Ow-!"

She did not apologise.

"But where? What was this other world like?" she demanded.

He frowned.

"It was a dream, Katrina. It wasn't real. Does it matter?"

Katrina's nails dug into his palm. Her eyes shone gold and silver. Her voice became piercingly urgent.

"Where is Edward?"

* * *

Had Mr Wonka's cane been a sentient object, it would have undoubtedly felt very lonely and upset at its master's disappearance. It might have also been more than a little affronted at being dropped in an especially boring patch of sugar grass, not to mention being completely avoided by the Oompa Loompas. They did after all have a fear that it was cursed.

Nonetheless, it was feeling pretty cheesed off; until a young man with a body of black leather popped out of thin air and landed beside it. The cane sparkled with unreal joy, the black swirl on its knob spinning in glee. Had it grown eyes, it would have been overwhelmed to see an old friend return, even if said friend was now staggering off, somewhat green in pallor, and – _oh god not in the ginger snap rosebush_!

Alarms sounded and Oompa Loompas, each one suited in anti-contamination gear, swarmed over the hill to greet the arrival. They fussed about the boy, piling in pyramids to check his hair; his ears; his tongue for anything and everything that might be damaging to a confectionery environment. One of them stuffed a toffee into his mouth before he could refuse, curing him almost instantly of his sickness. Satisfied he was not a hazard, the little people led him away over the meadow.

No one paid any attention to Mr Wonka's cane, but that was all right. It didn't know any better.


	8. Not As Easy As It Seems

A/N: Finished Uni and now trying to do little fanficcy bits here and there before I have to start work. Apologies to all of you who have been bored with waiting. DFQ xxx

* * *

Almost half an hour had passed before the chocolatier and the pirate had any luck escaping the looping path. Eventually Jack's arm, which had been dragging along the left-hand wall, dropped into space. He flailed about to grab at a brick that wasn't there and fell sideways onto a previously invisible path.

"Oh, how charming!" Mr Wonka said, approvingly. "The wall in this path looks just like the ones we were walking past. What a neat idea. Wish I'd thought of it."

Jack grunted as he once again picked himself up from the floor.

"I wish you'd found it."

"Thank you!" Wonka beamed.

"Hmm," said Jack.

He stared at the never-ending route ahead.

"I vote that you do the wall tracing this time."

"No need, Mr Sparrow."

Jack scratched his head.

"Why's that then?"

Mr Wonka walked a few paces forwards, reached out and poked the air in front of him. To Jack's utter bafflement, the image of the infinite path keeled over backwards to reveal a paved area of a more maze-like quality.

"Observation is key, Mr Sparrow. Obviously it was only a cardboard cut-out of a path."

"Aye, obviously," Jack replied sourly.

The two unusually attired persons wandered into a place of sand-coloured paving slabs punctuated with walls of the same pattern. Paths curved, right-angled and wound from nearly every direction before disappearing behind their respective walls.

"Oh dear, this isn't good at all. Not one little chicken." Mr Wonka shook his head at the amount of choice.

Jack, meanwhile, was hopping about on one foot as he extracted a stick of charcoal from inside a boot. He snapped it in half and offered one piece to Mr Wonka.

"'Ere, take this, an' use it to mark your route. It'll be better if we splits up. More of a chance o' finding the right way. Savvy?"

William looked mortified.

"That's been in your shoe! Under sweaty pirate socks!"

"I'm not wearing socks."

"Ew!"

"Just take the bloody stick, Wonka. You're wearing gloves."

Mr Wonka wrinkled his nose and daintily took the charcoal between finger and thumb.

"What are we gonna do if one of us finds the way before the other?"

Jack shrugged.

"Shout?"

"Okie dokie."

They set off in opposite directions, marking little lines on the slabs as they went. After some minutes, cries of "Bugger!" and "Darnit!" echoed about the maze.

Jack spun around on the spot in confusion. He had returned from a cul-de-sac to find that the arrow he'd drawn on the floor had disappeared. He backtracked, confident he was going back the way he had come, but his signs were nowhere to be seen. He glared suspiciously at his charcoal for a moment and then drew another arrow, really thickly this time, onto a floor stone. He pressed on along a path he was slightly sure he had not tried.

It was a dead end.

"Oh."

He spun on his heel and strolled back to the junction. He gawped.

The stone he had drawn on was levitating a couple of centimetres and turning to face a new destination.

"Oi!" Jack yelled. He bolted to the stone, which suddenly dropped into place as he reached it. Growling, he dug his fingernails into the cracks either side of the stone and ripped it from the ground. There was a small screech from underneath. Jack peered into the hole.

The tiniest woman he had ever seen stood in what looked like the kitchen of a miniature doll's house. She wore a frilly pink cap and a shawl the size of a stamp.

"Whattayoudoingwithourfraggingroof?" she screamed up at the pirate, shaking a minute ladle. "Putitthefragdown!"

"Ah," said Jack. "Apologies, madam."

He carefully put the stone back in place as the disturbed inhabitant ranted and raved.

* * *

Mr Wonka had suffered a similar experience. It was one thing to find that your doodles of arrows and happy faces were turning or swivelling out of sight, but he'd been quite shocked after opening up a wall-stone to see what was behind and finding a very embarrassed man smaller than an Oompa Loompa sitting on a toilet.

He'd hastened to escape the situation, a squeal of "Fragoff!" chasing him on his way.

Fanning himself with his hat, he looked resignedly at the unknown paths.

"Mr Sparrow!" he called. "How's your search goin'?"

As though there was a time zone delay, Jack's voice came after several seconds, "Awful! Little people everywhere. Won't let me keep track of meself."

Mr Wonka wandered in the vague direction of Jack's voice, turning back on himself whenever he reached the end of a path. He yelled over to where he deemed the pirate to be.

"This is certainly a pickle. I'm startin' to wish Mr Crane were here. He'd know what to do with somethin' like -."

Jack finally discovered the area he'd begun in, unless it was a very similar one. He frowned at the chocolatier being cut off.

"Wonka?"

There was a groan from behind him. Jack turned to see Ichabod crouched on the ground.

"Ah, welcome back, constable. Wonka replaced you I s'pose?" the pirate wondered.

"Most probably," sighed Crane. "That woman is unrelenting. No humanity in her at all."

Jack helped the constable to his feet.

"Not to worry, Bodders. With a bit of luck, one of us will win her over and 'ave her tame as a pussycat."

"Or she may get bored and decide to turn us into goblins anyway," Ichabod said glumly. "She got more aggressive as time passed. _I_ wouldn't help her get what she wanted, so she wants it more."

The constable looked pointedly at Jack.

"What?" asked the pirate.

"You don't want to know what she's after?"

Jack's eyes darted momentarily.

"Do tell, Mr Crane."

Ichabod dusted off his shirt collar and sleeves as he spoke.

"She's trying to find Edward. I am not sure of the reason but she seems very determined. Somehow she knows about him too, even the place he's supposed to be found, but she cannot seem to get hold of him. Isn't that strange?"

Jack nodded.

"Oh aye, very strange."

He walked ahead of Ichabod and closed his eyes in relief. _So she hadn't found the boy. No wonder she was cranky._

Constable Crane watched Jack shrewdly, and then changed the subject.

"So, what were you and Wonka doing before I arrived?"

"Trying to find a way through this maze. We tried splitting up and marking our way. Problem is, under our feet and in the walls there are lots of little people living in little 'ouses. Didn't like us making a mess of their 'ome."

"I see," said Crane with an edge of smarm.

"I _suppose _you have a better suggestion, Mr Crane?"

Ichabod folded his arms leisurely.

"Did you ask for directions?"


	9. Scissors and Sense

After a period of recovering and being force-fed with a sweet that gave him back memories in much the manner of a 'morning after', Edward was led up a series of dim passageways and narrow spiral staircases. An Oompa Loompa guide beckoned urgently for him to follow.

At the summit of the stairway there was a great tower shaped like an inverted ice-cream cone. Liquorice threads of wires wrapped here and there from tip to middle like raspberry sauce. The Oompa Loompa he was tailing opened a door into the tower and gestured for Edward to enter.

All around the walls, from the ground floor and levels up to the ceiling, were great screens and interfaces – each operated by three Oompa Loompas. In a black swivel chair in the centre, a lone Oompa sat watching a great monitor, crunching on popcorn as he did so. The image on the screen flipped every five seconds through various rooms in the chocolate factory. There was a sign above the screen, which read: WWTV in action.

Urged towards this central screen, Edward stood awkwardly and flexed his scissors. The Oompa Loompa in the chair spun gently around and smiled grimly. He reached out and shook the part of Edward's thumb that wasn't metal. Then he turned aside and clapped his small hands.

Another Oompa Loompa, dressed smartly in a top hat and tails, approached with a velvet cushion, upon which was a shining silver disc. The Oompa in the chair nodded respectfully to his butler-like friend and carefully lifted the disc from its nest. He gestured for Edward to pay attention before he turned to the great console and inserted the disc into a waiting slot. Immediately the monitor ceased skipping frames and remained fixed upon a picture of the one room in Mr Wonka's factory to be called 'The Chocolate Room'.

Edward leaned in to see the remainder of a machine being carted off in boxes and quad-bikes by Oompa Loompas. He saw Mr Wonka standing not far from the riverbank on his field of swudge.

The scissor-handed boy frowned and let his top lip recede in anxiety. Out of nowhere, a woman had appeared behind the chocolatier. He could not see her face, nor the small creatures at her sides, but he noticed her beautiful surge of black hair and the way the myriad folds of her cape billowed in an other-worldly breeze.

He looked on until the moment Mr Wonka turned around and, in surprise, addressed the visitor. The strange female grabbed the chocolatier's wrist and seconds later – blink – both Wonka and the woman were gone.

The seated Oompa Loompa only just shot out of the way in time as Edward's frenzied blades jabbed at the screen. His eyes were alight with fury, panic and grief. The scissors plinked uselessly on the glass, unable to understand.

Allowing his arms to go limp by his sides, Edward bowed his head apologetically to the Oompa Loompas.

"Who was she?"

The Oompas shrugged.

"When did this happen?" he asked.

The Oompa Loompa in the chair showed three fingers.

"Three days?"

The response was negative. Hands motioned shortening.

"Three…hours?"

He received a nod.

"I have to get him back," Edward said with nervous determination.

The Oompas nodded in reply.

The young man with scissors for hands shuddered as though his world were in tatters.

"What must I do?"

* * *

There was a disgruntled silence between the constable and the pirate. Ichabod had successfully extracted the necessary information from a local about which paths they should take, slightly less necessary advice on not talking to Mrs So-and-So who hadn't returned Mr Such-and-Such's pot-plant, and been offered a cup of eggweed tea and a woodlouse sandwich.

Jack, however, hadn't and was also disappointed that Crane had politely declined the food when it would have been much to his liking to see the snooty constable try to swallow it. He followed Ichabod's lead through the maze.

"It is beyond me why two, if I dare say, _intelligent_ men couldn't think to befriend someone that lives in the area," Constable Crane said eventually.

Jack sniffed.

"_That _is because Mr Wonka and myself happen not to be men of a logical nature. Much in life that is dangerous, exciting or about keeping one's head on one's shoulders is not about 'aving much common sense. Where I come from, sense doesn't happen frequently enough. The difference between you an' me, Bodders, is that whilst you knows not to step onto a road without looking lest ye be knocked flat by a cart, I also knows to check both ways on the footpath."

Ichabod paled suddenly.

"By the gods," he gasped.

"Eh?"

"I just remembered about the horseman. In the chocolate factory. He…" Crane gulped. "He really had no head. No tricks…no head…I was wrong…no head…"

Ichabod swayed on his feet. Jack grabbed his shoulders.

"Easy, mate. No conking out on me now."

The constable's face was green for a minute or so. Finally he focused on Jack and snapped out of his daze. He coughed and pushed the pirate aside somewhat roughly.

"We have to keep moving," he said.

Puzzled by Crane's coldness, Jack merely nodded and moved quietly after him.

* * *

Edward stood inside the Great Glass Elevator, a crowd of anxious Oompa Loompas watching. Just as the doors were closing, a red-in-the-face Oompa youth leapt forward, skidded across the floor and cast something at the boy's feet.

It was Mr Wonka's cane.

Edward made a grateful half-smile at the child.

He took in a deep breath then pushed the button marked 'Mr Wonka'.

The elevator shivered. The elevator groaned. It spun to the left, stopped, spun to the right, stopped, hovered upwards a few feet. It ticked like a clock, then purred as though it had realised a great secret. A sound like the slow, circular scraping of two metal plates occurred.

The crowd of Oompa Loompas screamed as the Great Glass Elevator folded inwards like a book and vanished, taking Edward with it.


	10. Mistrust

**A/N:** I'm so so sorry as usual for the extreme delay. Thank you for the old and new readers alike. This chappie has been sat half-finished on my computer for ages and alas it will still take time for me to keep writing this due to the lame having a job and also needing to write stuff for actually getting somewhere on the writing path. I am, however, working on the concept of a graphic novel version of One Depp Too Far. I maintain that I shall not give up on this, however long it takes, and there may even be another sequel some day. Apologies if my characterizations have gone down the toilet, it's been a long time. I've missed the boys so...

* * *

A sulky chocolatier stood behind the dusty bars of a dungeon door. There was a three-legged stool and even a reasonable bed, but both of these he shunned. A scraggly goblin with a ruff of grey hair running from one ear to the other sneered and tried to poke the prisoner with a small halberd. It squeaked in distemper when it couldn't reach.

There came a sound of footsteps nearby, then a light clatter as something hit the floor. A crystal globe rolled down the passageway, between the goblin's feet, through the bars and into the cell. Mr Wonka did not move, but his eyes never left the little ball.

The orb began to spin and as it did so, parted into segments like a glass orange. The segments dipped to the floor, darkened in colour, and melted into an inky pool. Like a shadow, the liquid rose up and took human shape, finally transforming into the Goblin Queen herself.

Mr Wonka gave an unimpressed sniff.

"Well, that was over-dramatic," he said.

Her discordant eyes flashed perilously.

"Do you think so?"

She strode up to him, a dark smile twisting her lips.

"You don't have to make yourself uncomfortable, William," she purred. "We could be friends, you and I."

Mr Wonka snorted. He folded his arms, his gloves squeaking at his elbows. The Goblin Queen was undeterred. Her voice played softer still.

"Share with me and I can make your confinements much more bearable…"

Another glass sphere slid out of her feathered cloak, tumbling down the ivory flesh of her arm. Catching it in her fingers, she leaned in closer still and held it up before his face. A vision of the same cell in which he resided opened up before his eyes. Crisp, artificial grass blanketed the floor. The bricks of the walls; dark chocolate. The mortar between them; white truffle. The window was trickling with leaves of sherbet ivy, beside a bed of marshmallow and wafers…

Mr Wonka inhaled sharply. The sight was hypnotic to him.

The Goblin Queen grinned.

"I may not be as talented as yourself, but I can also indulge in confectionery creativity if I choose to."

Mr Wonka made as if to step into the orb's image but paused when he saw a person enter the frame. Unable to stop himself, he let out a joyous laugh. Edward stood in the chocolate cell, waving his scissors in greeting. A shy smile lit his face.

With the chocolatier's gaze distracted, the Goblin Queen left the globe to hover and reached gently for his face. Her palm cupped his right cheek.

"William…" she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Tell me where he is, William. Tell me where to find Edward…"

Mr Wonka spoke dreamily.

"You really should polish your eyeballs, ma'am. He's right there." He giggled goofily and waved at the boy in the sphere. "Heya!"

The hand on his face tightened its grip. The Goblin Queen's stare bored into him, rooting through his mind, slipping through like a silent thief. She walked through his memories, pushing into the night his latest invention failed, watching for the moment he broke the rules of dimensions. At last she caught sight of what she had been looking for.

His other selves were about to be returned, seconds from the machine's activation. Mr Wonka forced a crumpled ball of paper into Edward's hand…and then they were gone. The 'silent thief' shattered a vase in the chocolatier's head. The sphere of illusions popped like a bubble.

Mr Wonka dodged out of range.

"Of all the vermicious…what in the fallutin' gooseberries did you do?"

Her feathers rattled as trees in the wind.

"You're the reason I could not find him!" she hissed. "You did something. Where is he? How did you do it?"

Wonka set his jaw.

"I don't know what you're mumblin' about, lady. As for who you're lookin' for, he's home, however bad that may be, and you can keep your mitts off him."

Her expression of fury gave way to mirth.

"You love him."

Mr Wonka glared.

"Oh, not in the carnal adult way," she explained. "But like a dearest brother. The other child your parents never had but wanted more than you. Another pitiful outcast of a world that won't believe in eternal innocence. Someone you can protect and teach. Someone with the mind of a child, like you. Someone that would be the perfect heir to your most valued of possessions…"

William stamped his foot, fists clenched. A 'W'-shaped imprint was made in the dust.

"He was the one you cared most for," the Goblin Queen pressed. "The others just wouldn't understand. Little wonder they were so willing to turn him in to save their skins."

"They gave him up without your prying mind tricks?" Mr Wonka accused.

She put on a face of mock sympathy.

"Oh, the dear Constable Crane fought me for a while, but by then I already knew Edward was not where he should be. No, it was your pirate counterpart that willingly betrayed him."

Mr Wonka looked nauseous.

"Jack…"

"Still, no harm done. You saw to it that I couldn't get to Edward, didn't you?"

The chocolatier sucked at his teeth, seething inside.

"Look, lady, I don't know what you want with me or any of us, and I certainly ain't got a clue what you think I've done."

"How did you keep him from me?" she persisted, pointed teeth showing in her impatience. "Nothing can evade me once I know of their homeworld."

Mr Wonka curled his lip and gave a shrewd look.

"Then how did ya come to know about mine?"

* * *

After successfully stumbling upon a path that led from the paved area, Jack and Ichabod now stood before a sealed doorway in a courtyard surrounded by dense jungle. Sand-coloured walls loomed either side to prevent an attempt to go around it. The door itself was a heavy block with a pattern of four rings set within each other on its surface. 

The constable's fingers traced the air close to the pattern, fearing to touch it lest some trap be sprung.

"It looks like a carving made by a member of an ancient civilization…" he muttered.

"Oh is it, Bodders? That's fascinating," replied Jack, in the manner of someone not in the least bit fascinated. "Stopped ignoring ol' Jack now, 'ave we?"

Ichabod's eyes roamed the fissures of the symbol for any telltale trigger mechanisms. Behind those eyes, tar pits might have bubbled.

"Apparently not, then," the pirate rambled to himself. "Just you an' me now, Jackie. Jus' you an' me. 'Course if we weren't bein' ignored, maybe we'd be of much more use. Maybe we could even help the poor chap what's standin' there with 'is nose in the blindingly obvious solution. 'Tis a shame at that, that he can't bring 'imself to ask a respectable Cap'n such as meself…"

Crane straightened and spun to face his impertinent company.

"Let it be said, Jack, that I find you to be of one of the least respectable men I have ever met. To be brought into contention with one so dishonest and untrustworthy, without being allowed the privilege of bringing him to justice, might be considered unbearable in any other circumstances."

As Ichabod continued to expose his thoughts, his surprised listener took a step back and noted several large and rounded stones at the edge of the courtyard.

"Once I had the confidence of mind to believe you had earned the right to call yourself friend, but it seems to me that even something as grand as saving the life of another must coincide with the improvement of your own. With this in mind, do you really expect me to ask for your opinion on even the most trivial of matters?"

Jack eyed the enraged constable for a moment or two.

"Nope," he said. "But you're going to get it anyway. It's a target."

"Come again?"

The pirate stooped to pick up a stone and tossed it in one hand.

"Sparrow…I would advise you to put that down," Ichabod warned.

"And I'd advise _you_, Bodders, to shift yerself."

Jack hurled the rock. It missed Crane's ear by an inch and struck the wall behind him. Shaking visibly, Ichabod's hand reached for his pistol. Jack had already taken up another stone.

"Can't say I didn't warn you, Constable," Jack called across the courtyard. "But then again, I'm an untrustworthy sort, as you've so cleverly surmised. You should also know that I'm a damned good shot and that last one was not in fact meant for your head." His charcoal-encompassed eyes narrowed at the movement of Crane's hand. "This one, however -."

Jack bowled the rock at a terrifying speed. Ichabod ducked and only just escaped the potentially skull-shattering missile. Barely catching his breath, he brought out the pistol and fixed it on the treacherous pirate. Behind him, the stone smashed into the centre of the carving.

"Best not be foolish, aye Bodders?" Jack grinned. "Ye know full well I can't be killed."

"Indeed, sir," Ichabod answered, panting. "You were not destroyed with one mere shot, but I have plenty others with which to experiment."

Jack cursed. The lie had fallen through, and if he was not swift, his new adversary would find out too soon just how mortal and lacking in magical Aztec gold he now was. He started to raise his hands reluctantly, and then he froze, staring beyond the constable's shoulder.

"That's interesting…" he said in a strained voice.

Wary of Jack's tricks, Ichabod could only respond with suspicion. "What is?"

"I hit a bull's eye."

Constable Crane's heart leapt as a bellowing roar sounded at his back.


	11. Problem Solving

He turned slowly, hand becoming clammy upon the grip of his pistol. The waves of his hair rippled in the wake of a great beast's breath. Hardly daring to stir, Ichabod allowed his gaze to slide towards the once inanimate creature. An irate bull of stone emerged from within the wall and began snuffling at the various shrubs poking up through the floor-stones. Rigid in their spots, the pirate and the constable exchanged urgent glances.

_What now? _Ichabod mouthed.

Jack traced the courtyard with a sweeping look. There was barely an exit wide enough for the enormous creature to wander away from the area and he deemed it pointless to waste shots on a farmyard animal made out of rock. He did, however, catch sight of a pit within the wall that the monster had been blocking. With a bit of luck it would be of sufficient size for them to crawl into. As soon as the bull's back was turned, Jack pointed delicately to the hole.

Ichabod gulped and nodded. Slowly and quietly they tiptoed for the tunnel. The constable was shivering with fear, his fingers scrabbling at the grip of his gun.

The sandstone bovine snorted. The two men froze. Ichabod trembled more violently still. Jack watched him with a dull horror, shaking his head in minute movements. They crept further still, halfway to safety.

The pistol fell from the constable's hand; he caught it. He smiled with relief and disbelief.

**-BANG-**

A shot ricocheted around the quiet courtyard. Jack flinched. When he opened his eyes again, his glare could have melted steel. "Crane, if we survive this, remind me to pull your arms off."

A great bellowing sounded. The immense bull pawed at the ground – made all the more frightening by the fact that this action shattered the flagstones at its feet. Its target-patterned eyes blazed wildly.

"Not good," the pirate commented, as expected.

And they ran for the tunnel.

Jack, a little quicker on his feet, dove headlong through the opening and tumbled down into a torch-lit chamber. Ichabod only just managed to leap in before the mad beast smashed bodily into the wall, where it crumbled across the entrance.

The constable gasped in breath where he lay upon dusty earth. Jack was already up and pacing restlessly, eager to move through one of several passages that opened up ahead. He was clearly uncomfortable underground.

"Must keep moving," he muttered. "I'd sooner be back at the gallows than rotting down 'ere." The croaking click of a pistol hammer pricked his ears. "Come off it, Crane, I knows as well as you that thing i'n't loaded," he said without turning. "And you can't kill me, remember?"

Sitting against the cave wall, Ichabod watched the back he aimed at with caution. "Perhaps not. What I _can_ do is ensure you're unable to walk. I could just as soon put in another shot."

Doubting that the constable could manage to do so before he could wrench the gun from him – plausibly with enough time to club him unconscious with it – Jack decided to humour him. He turned on the spot and clasped his hands at his belt.

"All right. What's got your frilly drawers in a twist this time?"

"Tell me why the Goblin Queen gave you less time than the rest of us. If she can bend the rules of your game and not ours, she must have some power over you, which leads me to wonder why she did not take sufficient time from you to make your failure a certainty? Please enlighten me, and –," he added as Jack attempted to respond, "I'd advise against falsehoods, Mr Sparrow. I want the truth."

Jack gave a half grin.

"The trouble with the truth, Constable, is that people just don't want to hear it. Oh they may think they do but they're always so terribly disappointed when it happens. I wouldn't want to disappoint you, now would I?"

His heart skipped a beat at the speed with which Ichabod launched to his feet and crossed the cave, locking eyes with him. The constable's pallid cheeks were flushed with a fearful rage.

"I know what it was you gave her. Remarkable how she knew all of our names, is it not?" He dropped his firing arm to his side in order to bark in Jack's face. "She used me to get to Edward, whose name I believe she got from you as part of your bargain. What's to say you did not give her my name also?"

Jack kept his sneering smile, masking his own sense of guilt. "Supposing I told her of the walking garden tool, what loss was it really? Have you so little faith that we can make it out of 'ere?"

Ichabod shook his head in disgust. "You're a louse of a man and a traitor to any foolish enough to call you friend."

Jack surprised even himself with his icy response. "Pirate…" he hissed, taking care to allow his unpleasant breath to tickle the constable's nostrils. "Regardless," he said, turning and walking on towards the nearest passageway, "Whatever I did or did not say of ol' Eddie, she ain't found 'im, and as for you, mate, I said nothing. How's that for friendship, eh?"

Ichabod's hand flew to his pocket for shot and powder, but all in vain. Jack had vanished, and the chocolatier had returned – a hatted silhouette in the gloom.

* * *

Meanwhile, residents of the Underground puzzle maze strained to keep the 'walka-walkas' on their houses as a jet-like noise burst through the sky overhead. The waterless vertical fish tank of the Great Glass Elevator careened along, zigzagging through endless passageways.

It came to a sudden halt; rockets powered down and the transparent lift thumped to the ground. The doors groaned outwards and the traveller stepped onto the lawn of an overgrown garden.

Edward wobbled precariously, and was then violently sick in the nearest hedge.

The garden was in a sorry state. The grass was so thick with bristling and thorny weeds that it was not unlikely they had been purposely cultivated. Dead creepers, filthy with ancient cobwebs, draped about the walls. Ugly bushes dotted the area with a sulky presence.

A goblin stood nearby, aghast. He wore a tiny straw boater and clasped a rake in his hand. He had been on the verge of setting upon the trespasser that was damaging his property, until he noticed the gigantic sets of shears in place of the human's hands. It only took the sight of Edward's faintly scarred face to emerge from the hedge for the goblin to give out a high-pitched 'Yipe!' and dash away into the maze.

The yellow-faced boy gazed blearily at the garden mess, his scissors twitching instinctively. There was work to be done.

* * *

"I see you've been having a party also, Mr Crane," said William, eyeing the constable as he poured powder into his pistol chamber.

Ichabod watched the dreary passageways whilst he loaded the shot. "Apparently so. Has she found Edward yet?"

Mr Wonka sucked his teeth sullenly. "No, and she has some wacked out idea that I have something to do with it. No thanks to Mr Sp- Spa- S- … that darned pirate." He stamped his foot then cursed mildly as dust covered his once shiny shoes. "We should keep on truckin' and finish this stupid game before she gets the chance."

"Splendid idea."

Having slid his weapon back into his belt, Crane marched over to a wall bracket and relieved it of its torch. He turned to where the paths divided and chose one at random, before continuing on with Wonka in tow. A few yards along, the paths split again, this time into three.

"Left, right, or -," Ichabod began.

A wooden door had appeared in each one of the ways, each of them with a grotesque knocker fixed to their top centres. These had monkeyish faces with squat noses and bat-like ears.

"Be someone there?" gargled the one on the right. It was engraved with webbed fingers over its eyes.

"Indeed there is," Ichabod answered. "We are trying to get through this Labyrinth as quickly as possible and would appreciate knowing which door will lead closer to the castle."

"Labyrinth? Castle? Ooh that _does _sound exciting. I wish I could see. It's an awful pain not knowing what's going on or where I've popped up. Where am I this time?"

"You're in a sequence of caves below ground."

"Oh well that's no use is it?" the blind knocker chortled. "There be hundreds of them. What else is here?"

"There are two other doors with faces blocking the other passageways, one with hands over its ears, the other over its mouth."

Ichabod fancied he saw the blind knocker manage to nod.

"Ah so there I be. It is good to have company again, yes."

"Very good. Would you happen to know which door leads to the castle? I'm afraid we don't have a lot of time," the constable asked impatiently.

"I don't be knowing, sorry friend. All I know is you can only go through one of us, and though I can swap sides of my door, I would not see if there was a way out the other side."

Crane frowned. "Very well then, I shall ask the other two. Thank you for your help."

"You be welcome."

Putting on his best interrogative pose, Ichabod addressed the middle door knocker.

"Good day to you. I suppose you may have heard the question I put to your friend just now? Could you help?"

"Mmf…"

"Ah." Crane attempted to prise the brass hands from the mute knocker's mouth.

"Mmmf!" it said, glaring.

Ichabod released his grip, and muttered apologetically.

Mr Wonka fancied trying his hand at playing detective.

"Hello there!" he said to the final knocker.

"WHAT?" The reply almost blew his hat off.

"I said hello there!" William repeated with hands cupped about his mouth.

"STOP MOCKING ME. I CAN'T HEAR YOU."

Wonka folded his arms, put out. "There's no need to snap. Stress isn't good for the complexion ya know."

Ichabod ushered him out of the way and stood before the deaf knocker. He tried mouthing his questions very slowly and clearly.

"NO USE GETTING ME TO LIP-READ. HAVEN'T SEEN ENOUGH FACES TO LEARN. NEVER EVEN SEEN MY OWN FACE."

The constable sighed.

Mr Wonka produced a notepad and paper from his dimension-defying pockets and tried writing the words down.

"CAN'T READ EITHER. QUIT BOTHERING ME."

The two men decided to give their ears a rest.

"It's no good," Ichabod complained. "One can't understand a word I say and the other can't say a word itself."

It took a few moments but Mr Wonka finally caught on to what his brain was trying to suggest. "What if we get the middle one to tell us without words? My Oompa Loompas hardly ever speak English except when they're singing. Most of the time we communicate with sign language."

"Excellent idea, Mr Wonka, with a minor flaw. It can't move its hands."

William rolled his eyes and strolled over to the middle door again. "Howdy again, sir or ma'am. If ya would be willing to be so kind, we'll ask ya some questions and if you would answer with a blink for yes and two blinks for no, that would be super, 'kay?"

The knocker blinked:once.

After a considerable amount of blinks from the poor mute, the constable and the chocolatier ascertained that there was a dead end behind its door. A few questions on the side revealed that the loudmouth on his right had never mentioned anything of interest either.

Almost as satisfied as they could be, Ichabod returned to the blind knocker.

"Hello again. We think we've settled on choosing your door, but we'd like to ask just one more thing."

"Be my guest."

"Have you ever heard anything in particular on the other side of your door?"

"Oh yes, sometimes I be hearing the odd footstep or a bird twittering."

"Good, good. Then, permission to pass," Ichabod requested.

"Just knock and it should open."

Crane did so and the two of them walked on into the passage beyond. The knocker reappeared on the back of the door.

"Farewell then and good luck. It be a while since people walked through my door."

Ichabod paused in his steps. "People have been through before?"

"Yes, yes. People be only ever coming through mine."

The constable slapped his forehead and then he and Wonka wandered on their way.


	12. Giraffe

In a straw-covered corner of a damp cell, Jack observed a rat scurrying to and from a crack in the wall, envying its freedom. He considered this quiet room to be momentarily more pleasant than the prison of the challenges in the Labyrinth. The company was more difficult than the maze. This confused him somewhat, for he usually found people wonderfully interesting and it had never mattered much when he caused upset; he could always run away and come back later with a huge smile that melted all their previous grievances away. Usually. But not here.

He lay back with arms behind his head, preferring to gain some rest rather than attempt escape. It wasn't as though he wouldn't be coming back here. His eyes drifted shut and he reached instinctively to tip his hat over them but, of course, grabbed at thin air. He sighed and curled up in the straw.

At the point of dozing off, a hideous squeaking caused him to bolt upright. A hag-toothed, ragged goblin stood in his cell. It was munching loudly on the rat, bones cracking gruesomely. With each crunch, Jack felt a twinge in his spine. He watched with revulsion as the rat's tail slurped through the vile creature's lips.

"So, Jack, what do you make of my Labyrinth?"

The Queen leant against a mossy wall, her showy attire replaced with a black, tavern-wench dress, her spidering animé hair undisturbed.

"Captivating," he worded sourly.

"It is a pity that it was your turn. I would have loved to see what William might do when he sees you. He has a fascinating temper under all that sweetness." She laughed, and the sound came from everywhere but inside the cell. Then she smirked shrewdly at the pirate's silence. "Come now, you're not afraid of what they think of you?"

He didn't want to answer, but his reply came out all the same. "Afraid? No. More disheartened that they expected so much of me. Clearly none of them are familiar with the ways of a scallywag. This affair is trifles compared to the things I've done to people back 'ome. There must be far much more to honour and decency in their worlds."

"Do you not think it is less _what_ you have done, but that you have done it? Did you not say yourself –," her voice did not so much as mimic Jack's but became it, "_The deepest circle of hell is reserved for betrayers and mutineers_."

The pirate's skin crawled. "Don't _ever _do that again." He paused before continuing, "The Code counts for nothing here. They are not pirates, and they are not part of my crew."

"But they are you, and to quarrel with you is to quarrel against the captain of _The Black Pearl_."

Jack gave a grimacing sneer. "Oh very funny. I'm not making meself walk the plank."

This time her laughter only sounded in his head. He winced.

"Such a limp thing you are, so-called _Captain_ Jack Sparrow. Moping about like this when your troubles are so few."

He gritted his teeth, forcing against the response that flowed out against his wishes. "I have…no ship, there is no sea, I don't have my hat, I don't have my effects, I have no rum, more people want to shoot me, I have no freedom, and all of this pales in comparison to the fact that if I stay here I live forever as a goblin but if I go back I am a _dead MAN_!"

The Queen delighted in his anger. She swanned over to him and ducked down to his level; all bodice, hair and skirts. "I don't normally do requests, but since you ask so nicely…" She looked to the barred window, raised her arm and circled her wrist in a waving motion. Before her prisoner could comment, she conjured a spherical crystal in her palm and blew on it as though it were a bubble. She stared at it until it began to glimmer, and then it contorted, stretching in two directions, flattening and molding, curling and eking, engraving and embellishing.

A polished flintlock balanced upon her hand. A tiny orb had pulled away from the main body, split into fragments and formed a cluster of shots and powder packets. Nifty…

Jack's eyes widened. "That can't be my-."

"Your pistol? Why not? It's far easier bringing inanimate objects from their worlds than people. My goblins fetch items all the time, sometimes without me asking." She frowned suddenly. "Although a lot of them seem to have an unfortunate penchant for socks." She shrugged and offered the gun to him.

His fingers itched to take it. "How do I know it won't just disappear?"

"Because I don't specialize in putting things back where they belong," she said, keeping back her sense of glee at the idea of the players wasting time fighting.

Not entirely convinced, Jack snatched his pistol and the shots and powder that she had probably pinched from some poor soul mid-battle, and deposited them about his person.

They were interrupted by the slapping of feet and a blue-in-the-face goblin squeezed through the cell bars, running straight to the Goblin Queen. It bowed a few times, so low that its head bumped on the floor, and proceeded to whisper urgently. She nodded and turned to leave.

"And my other things? My hat, let's say?" Jack asked hopefully.

"Some other time perhaps. I have a…matter to attend to. I shall let you get some sleep. I may not be so generous next we meet."

She swept up to her feet and glided towards the door, fading into nothing, the wheezing goblin following.

Jack Sparrow quietly removed his pistol from its holster and took his time loading it. He rose from the ground and looked about the cell, brushing off a few stray straws. The unpleasant rat-eater was still mooching around in the room, scrabbling at the hole in the wall in search of more snacks.

Jack ambled to the window and peered out across what little of the kingdom he could see. It had changed since last he looked. The wastelands outside the castle walls were almost completely gone. The forest had moved closer and now between it and the great maze was a large expanse of water.

A very tiny part of him was elated. The rest caused words to tumble from within his elaborated quasi-goatee. "Oh bugger."

He turned his back on the world outside and sagged against the wall, his head tilting back onto the sill. He let out a pursed-lip sigh and then without any further sound he raised his arm and shot the goblin in its scrawny back.

* * *

The Goblin Queen materialized upon a path in the maze, once more in her raven-feather cloak but with an altogether more tasteful black dress. The messenger goblin appeared beside her and scurried ahead, turning the corner into the scene to which it wished to draw attention.

It shrieked in alarm at the sight of unexpected beauty. Large animal-shaped topiaries grazed on kempt lawns parted by cleanly swept paths. The Queen walked in to see a peculiar figure gently brushing the last path with a long, bushy branch that he held in the grips of two great pairs of scissors.

The messenger saw her astonished face as a cue to proceed. He whipped out a miniscule pair of spectacles, which he balanced on his nose, and unrolled a long parchment. Pointing a long finger at the boy, he began to screech out a droning speech.

"You have absolutely no rights whatsoever, except those that Her Majesty gives you. Boundaries overstepped include the following: Item 1, no de-weeding of Her Majesty's gardens. Item 2, no operating an air-travel vehicle without a proper licence. Item 3, no unauthorised depictions of giraffes – aaaaiiieeee!"

A swift kick to the goblin's rump sent it hurtling over the hedgerows.

"Desist, fool! Is that any way to welcome a guest?" The Queen turned to the boy and put on her most saccharine voice. "Why hello there, dear, you must be Edward?"

The boy nodded and dropped the branch. He sidled over to the deactivated Elevator and, after a few moments of fumbling, retrieved the chocolatier's cane. He held it as close to himself as possible. Once again facing the imposing woman, he stumbled backwards when she attempted to approach.

"Come, I will not harm you. I shall bring you to your friend William," she said soothingly.

Edward frowned at her. "I will not go with you. Thank you." He dipped his head into a bow and shuffled around to walk away. When he got to the nearest mouth of the maze he discovered it to be blocked off by a posse of flea-bitten, spear-wielding minions. Various others crept out from behind his works of art or peered wobblingly over the high walls as they stood upon one another's shoulders into nosey sentry towers.

"Since your manners are so clear, I think you would not be so rude as to refuse my hospitality," the Queen remarked. "The sooner you come with me, the sooner you may see your friends. Your rescue mission is touching, although quite impossible. We will attend to your flying machine and keep it safe should the time come when you leave." The feathers shivered on her cloak and in an instant she was at Edward's side, her fingers gripping his shoulders like talons.

Wholly disappointed in himself, Edward allowed himself to be guided along, the image of the garden melting around him and giving way to the cold stone of the castle.

* * *

The two gentlemen in the maze had spent much of this hour trudging on in silence. The underground path had led up to the milky sunlight once more and expanded into miles of other routes snaking around hulking leylandiis.

"Now if this place was done my way," Wonka conceded to speak at last, "somewhere along the line something's gonna happen that'll give Mr Sp-pa-pa-parrow just what he deserves. Yuh huh."

Crane smiled a little. "You fancy yourself somewhat of a judge, Mr Wonka?"

"Darn right if no one else sees fit to do it in my world. It's all _health-and-safety this _and _I'll-sue-your-tushy _that. Did you know that, in England, girls ain't allowed to carry pepper spray to protect them because 'its only purpose is to cause harm'?"

"Pepper in spray form? What an interesting notion -," Ichabod began, but faltered at Wonka's stern glare. "I mean… that's a bit much. With that sort of woolly thinking, one might suppose no man should be allowed out of doors. If womenfolk are forbidden to possess a weapon they'd never intend on using inappropriately, it could be argued why should we?"

There was a minute-long space where both pale-faced men continued on wordlessly, if walking in somewhat of an awkward manner. It was fortunate that the pirate was not present, was all the constable could think.

"As I was sayin'," William resumed, "I spend much of my time dreamin' up new ways to revolutionise and deal out a bit of my own propaganda. I'll have to do it discreetly, or dazzle people so much they wouldn't know where to begin explaining what had happened." His expression was beyond sinister.

"Ah," replied Ichabod, deciding to hold his tongue on the subject of Mr Wonka's future tour he had but once mentioned. "I trust there are no laws on vigilantism then?"

Mr Wonka rolled his eyes, trying to imagine that had the constable been born in his time he probably wouldn't have spent his childhood running around in a Batman cape. Neither had Mr Wonka. Well, not as a child anyway, so he kept it to himself.

"Yeah, just keep on bummin' me out, Mr Crane. That'll make this puzzle just fly by…"

They quickened their paces, wandering back and forth, in and out of cul-de-sacs, not daring to split up lest the maze take a mind of its own. Every so often, the constable glanced over at the chocolatier's sulking face.

"So…" he said at last, with a playful look in his eyes. "Tell me what you hope the Labyrinth will do to Mr Sparrow."

Mr Wonka gave him a shrewd, sidelong look.

"'Kay."


	13. The Edward Expansion Pack

It had been a long round with the sun scorching down upon the two men negotiating the maze. They were grateful when they trudged into a worn courtyard embedded with several decorative fountains. Ichabod knelt on one of their circular ledges and scooped up a handful of the cool waters.

Almost at once, he dropped it back again.

"Poison?" Mr Wonka wondered.

"Not exactly…it's _blue_."

William flicked out a scattering of droplets with the tips of his gloves. They spattered across the hopscotched flagstones, blue as a glob of plasticine. Having perfected the art of making water any colour he chose without any unnatural tweaking, he couldn't quite see the problem.

"So?"

"So it isn't water," the constable reasoned. "Water is only blue if it reflects the sky. It should not remain blue when disturbed."

"Don't mean it's not water. Maybe this place is tryin' to mimic real worlds, but it ain't got all the understanding quite right."

Ichabod realised his thinking outside the box was still within a box of which Mr Wonka was outside. "All right, then let us see what the other fountains have to say for themselves."

They split up to examine each of them and returned with a look of surprise on their faces.

"Aside from the blue, we have red and black water," Ichabod reported. "What did you find?"

"A yellow, a white, an' a weird empty thing in the middle."

The two of them wandered over to the 'weird empty thing'. It was a large, square block of stone built somewhat like a pyramid of seven ascending steps. Upon the bottommost square sat a bucket. It seemed strangely familiar.

"I do believe this may be some sort of puzzle, Mr Wonka."

"Very astute, Bodders."

Jack balanced on the edge of one of the fountains, leaning leisurely against the rim of its spouting tulip centre.

"I trust you haven't been spilling out yet more information about us for your own gain? Told her about Mr Rainey even?" Crane replied.

William approached the pirate, scowling. "You rotten tattletale! You gave her Edward!"

"I did not," said Jack. "Ol' Bodders told 'er about him in the first instance, and if it weren't for your doings, Mr Wonka, none of us would be in this mess. She got you first, at any rate. For what it's worth, the hag can't find young master Ed."

Wonka frowned. "Wha'd'you mean if it weren't for me? It's not my fault she kidnapped me!"

"Aye, but a remarkable coincidence that once she had you, she automatically came for me, and then started pickin' our brains for the exact same people who accidentally found themselves a-rollicking round your factory, savvy?"

Constable Crane marched over to stand alongside Mr Wonka. "The difference between us, Mr Sparrow, is that we were tricked into giving information. You tried to buy your way out."

Jack resisted the urge to quibble idly about the particulars, no matter what it may have saved him. "Didn't take you long to drop the first name terms, did it Mr Crane? What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be in that mouldy old castle?"

Ichabod's lips parted to reply, but he was unable. The three men became similarly perplexed. A shadow fluttered overhead; a great raven cascaded onto the top of the pyramid where it perched, glaring beadily at the onlookers. It curled into a blur of feathers, which grew and grew, writhing as a black mass until it became the form of the Goblin Queen, parting her feathered cloak to reveal herself.

She grinned at Jack. "I happen to like a bit of mildew here and there. Makes a place look lived-in." Holding herself up proudly, dark ensemble shimmering, she announced, "A new element has been brought into the game. I have found the boy Edward and he has kindly agreed to help you all in your quest. Of course he needed a little coaxing to say the right words…but his hours now add to yours. I'll throw in a few extra challenges for good measure." Revelling in the gloom that crept across their faces, she looked to Ichabod and added, "I do hope you know by now that your pirate friend isn't immortal. Even if he had still been under a curse, my Labyrinth would have rendered the magic useless. Enjoy the tasks ahead."

She resumed her raven form with a fleeting cackle and took off into the sky.

"I _hate _that woman," said Jack, and then he drew his pistol as the others turned on him.

Mr Wonka ducked behind Crane, but continued to glower over his shoulder.

"I th-thought you said you didn't h-have your pistol," the constable muttered.

"That I did not," the pirate confirmed, "until Queen Gobbles decided to fetch it for me. _Not _in return for Edward, before you ask. I don't know how she found 'im."

"A likely story."

Jack bared his teeth in annoyance. "Look, we can stan' around here arguin' the time away, or we could carry on workin' our way through and getting out of here. I don't know about you gents but –_ agh! Bucket!_"

The item in question had sprouted four tiny legs, jumped down from the pyramid step and was skittering towards the constable's foot. Jack's gun went off and the shot struck the bucket hard in its wooden side. It gave out a pitiful, mouthless shriek and keeled over.

_Oops_. Jack dashed across the quad, arms flailing, as Ichabod drew his own pistol and gave chase. Meanwhile, Mr Wonka crouched beside the fallen bucket and took hold of it gently. It shivered in his arms, with fear or pain he supposed.

"Poor little guy," he said softly.

Crane followed the pirate's movements with great difficulty. His colourful opponent ducked and weaved in between the fountains, never giving him so much as an inch of still target.

"Give it up, Crane. You can only fire once. Think you can reload before a pirate?"

"I only _need_ to fire once," Ichabod called.

Jack continued to lead the constable a merry dance about the courtyard a good three times before Mr Wonka decided to put a stop to their behaviour. Still clutching the wounded bucket, he cried out to them.

"I've had just about enough of this poppycock! Quit waving those stupid guns about and get your keisters over here and help me with this braintwister!"

Constable Crane was distracted long enough for Jack to break off from his current hiding place and make for the nearest exit. He skidded across the paving, through an ivy archway and down one of the many maze passages.

The constable and the chocolatier started at the bloodcurdling yell that sounded only moments later. They raced towards the cry, hoping that the pirate had not gone so far as to be lost. They turned another corner and gawped at the sight.

Jack was struggling on the ground, his fingernails clawing into the cracks in the stone. Coiled about his legs and torso were myriad slimy tentacles, with suckers like an octopus, writhing on him, tugging him towards a yawning pit. Desperately, he kicked against them but instantly his ankles were bound together.

Ichabod barely hesitated in running to the rescue. He rushed to offer his hand, but in response, the tentacles pulled all at once. Unable to hold out against the strength, Jack was wrenched towards the abyss. As is custom in these situations, he managed to grip the mouth of the hole with the tips of his fingers. He hauled himself up far enough to see Mr Wonka looking at him curiously, cradling _the bucket?_ Jack gasped with the strain of the slimy limbs, managing a weak and pleading smile.

Before anyone could stop it, the bucket leapt out of the chocolatier's arms and slammed full force with its little feet onto Jack's hands. With a startled cry, he withdrew and was dragged into darkness.

* * *

Edward watched the crystal in the Goblin Queen's hand with a horrid fascination, having seen within it Jack plummeting through a jungle of tentacles.

"Ah! At last someone's found an oubliette," she snickered.

"What are you doing to them?" the boy entreated timidly.

She stroked his cheek patronisingly.

"_I _am doing nothing. It is their choices that shape the things to come, and my Labyrinth responds to them in its own way. Of course each King or Queen's Labyrinth has a basic structure. There has to be a castle, a maze, some dungeons, caves and such. Normally there's only really one way to run it, but I'm not fond of all the wet nappies, so I took a slight detour off the rules."

She passed a hand over the crystal, masking it from sight. When she lifted her hand, it had gone. Her mismatched eyes cast a glance around the dingy cell.

"This isn't really the place for you, dear. You will take a tour of the castle with me." She put her arm about Edward's shoulder, who went rigid at the unfamiliarity of contact, and moved for the door. His line of sight fell upon her chest and there any trail of thought he had ended. The Queen sighed, gripped the top of his leather-clad arm and pulled him out of the prison.

She brought him to one of the several balconies that overlooked the queendom and allowed him to see the lands he had to travel. The look in his eyes was of pure amazement. He had thought the town of Suburbia to be full of wonders when he had first been introduced, but this world…it was like one gigantic garden to him. From the castle walls onwards was a stretch of forest shrouded in shadow; then a great mass of water; beyond that, defying explanation, a land of white snow and small mountains; then another watery crossing; and finally, at the furthest reaches, the maze where his friends were.

The Queen smiled at her handiwork, the snowy climate being the newest addition. She had never laid out such a long journey, which meant she would have time and the need to plan out entertainment for her guests. It was so rare that she got to have company, and even rarer that they would be around long enough before she had to either return them home or enlist them in the goblin ranks. She stroked the tear-shaped crystal pendant that hung about her neck absent-mindedly and headed back indoors.

Edward reached out to the vast scene below him with his sharp finger-substitutes, half expecting it to vanish as a figment of his imagination. He drank in the dream-world view as deeply as he could before following the unhinged beauty into the castle.


	14. Oubliette

**A/N:** At last it's here, the next instalment. For anyone's who's interested I'm desperate for a roleplayer to play Tia Dalma in my Sparrow's Folly RPG. It won't follow exactly the same plot as the movies, so if you feel you're an adequate writer and would enjoy being part of an epic 'love story' and adventure, plus the added bonus of hanging out with Jack, check out my profile page or ask for my email address in a review! Also looking for anyone else who would like to bring a charrie in, original or not. Anyways, on with the story...

* * *

Two faces peered down warily into the hole that had swallowed Jack.

"Mr Sparrow?" called the man in the black waistcoat. "Can you hear me?"

"Forget it, Mr Crane," Mr Wonka grumbled. "He's long gone. I don't know why you're so bothered about him all of a sudden. A minute ago you wanted to shoot him, now you drag me along after him 'cause he's in trouble."

Ichabod got to his feet, his eyes still fixed on the opening, searching for movement. "I did not want to shoot him. I was simply trying to keep order and find out the truth about his deal with this Queen. If he would just tell me exactly what happened, we might be able to work out how we all got here and whether there might be a way out. Unfortunately, merely asking him just makes him avoid the subject altogether."

The chocolatier rolled his eyes.

"We already _know _the way out. It's finishing this darn puzzle, but if you two just wanna carry on goofin' off and playin' tag all the time, we're goblins for sure."

Ichabod furrowed his brow and cast a glance upon the sentient bucket, which meandered playfully in between Mr Wonka's shoes.

"Yes, I…I suppose you're right. My apologies. I don't quite know what comes over me with regards to Mr Sparrow. All clear thought banishes from my mind and I behave like a common miscreant."

"Sounds to me like _you_," William replied, nodding towards the pit, "have a bad influence on yourself."

"He is _not_ m-." Constable Crane broke off at Mr Wonka's scowl. "All right, all right. It is as you say. We should stop all this foolishness and get on with the task at hand. However, three heads are better than two…if there was some way to know that Mr Sparrow was safe and indeed retrievable, we might stand a better chance. Granted that once his turn comes around he would catch up with us upon return, but seeing as we've only just got him back, his potential usefulness would go to waste."

Ichabod scanned his surroundings, glancing at the creeper-strewn walls of the Labyrinth and noting the impatient squeaking of the chocolatier's gloves.

"I have an idea," he said, and hurried back to the courtyard.

Mr Wonka looked down at the bucket, which in turn tilted as of a face peering up inquisitively, before he wandered after the constable.

* * *

From the gloom of one of the Labyrinth's many oubliettes came a low groan. There was a scraping, as of someone getting to their feet amongst stony debris, and a series of crashes and curses as said someone bumped and stumbled amongst the unseen contents of the room.

"What I wouldn't give for a lick of flame…"

The movement ceased. There came a _ting _as of the strike of a triangle before the voice spoke again.

"I _wish _to see this room."

On cue, several wall-torches flared up and illuminated the circular, stone area along with a very self-satisfied Jack Sparrow. Arranged about the oubliette were a few tatty items of furniture: an old chest; a wardrobe, and a small wooden stool supporting a lamp. There was also a goblin sat in the middle of the floor. It hid the triangle and beater it had been wielding behind its back and looked up nervously at the pirate.

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"I wish…I was on my ship and back in my own world…"

The goblin blinked. Nothing happened.

Sucking his teeth, unimpressed, Jack looked down shrewdly at the ugly little creature.

"You're not a very _good _genie, are you?"

The reply came in the form of a faint whimper. Its knobbly hands brought out the tiny percussion instrument once more and gave it a _twing _that would hopefully please the stranger.

Jack scowled. "I wish…that I had something that could make a very loud noise and cause you a substantial amount of pain." The torchlight flickered in his eyes, which glanced between his belt and the goblin. "Oh look…"

He whipped his pistol from its holster.

"I _do_."

"Meep!" said the goblin. The triangle dropped to the floor with a clatter as its player scampered off in search of refuge.

The pirate stalked after the miniscule monster and watched smugly as it leapt up to pull on the handle of the wardrobe. Having yanked it ajar, the goblin dropped down and dashed inside.

Jack holstered his gun, smirking at the ease with which he'd located the exit and clambered through the waiting mass of moth-eaten overcoats.

* * *

The Goblin Queen had found herself once again rearranging her castle to accommodate yet another courtyard of untidy garden to entertain her guest. Although change was a frequent pastime of hers, to do so for others was something of an anomaly. In some small way, watching the boy's sharp hands whirlwind through the grotesque scenes gratified her desire for chaos and appealed to her more innocent love of beauty.

Draped across a haggard bench, goblin servants wafting her with black fans, she observed Edward scythe the tall grasses, shape the hedgerows and with a look of deep concentration snip lovingly about new buds.

"It is a pity that I shall have to transform you when your friends fail my Labyrinth," the Queen purred. "The talent you bring to my grounds is refreshing."

Edward paused in pruning a rosebush that had rather too many thorns to be realistic and turned to her. He flexed the implements that in any other man's hands would be deadly.

"I don't suppose I could tempt you into a deal? You could have as many different gardens as you liked…"

The boy barely hesitated in returning to the rosebush, hacking somewhat more violently than before.

"Worth a try." The Queen's mismatched eyes twinkled to compliment her grin.

* * *

Far away in a land of eternal winter, a powdery shower of snow cascaded from an evergreen as a little goblin made itself comfortable in the branches. It rummaged around in a petite pouch at its waist and pulled out an even diddlier pair of binoculars. After a quick brushing of dust from the lenses, it raised them to its face and giggled.

Fields of previously undisturbed snow trembled in the wake of a stampede. The distant roar of a lion penetrated the crisp air. An almost adorable patter of rapid footfalls crunched into hearing range. The image of Jack Sparrow passed by in a colourful blur as it raced in between the frozen trees –

- and was shortly thereafter pursued by an angry throng of woodland creatures and mythical beings.

Blundering in the direction of the cursed piece of furniture that had led him here, Jack let out a terrified cry in perceiving the weapon and fang-laden mob that gained upon him, snarls of the overly large feline leader causing chills to bounce through his blood.

"_Definitely_ not the way out!"

At last reaching the dark recesses of the tunnel that backed onto wardrobe, he threw himself to safety, bowling onto the floor of the oubliette in a tangle of coats. Quickly and stumbling on faux fur, he slammed the doors closed.

Panting, resting his back on the wood, Jack considered the other contents of the room; the chest and the lamp. Sneaking across to the chest, he reached out gingerly and flipped the catch. He closed his eyes and threw the lid open.

Emptiness.

The pirate poked about inside, rapping each side and the bottom in search of a way through. With a disgruntled snort, he kicked the chest and consequently jumped aside as it gave a sudden hiss and clamped its lid shut.

Dejected, Sparrow ambled about the cave, drumming his fingers upon every inch of wall he had the mind to search. All the while he had a nagging sensation he was missing something. After a few minutes of futile digging through rubble and brushing at immovable rock, his exhausted gaze swept across the room and settled upon the lamp.

Jack lifted it from the stool and inspected the modern device. It was rounded like a vase, with a crinkle-cut shade about its top, and it had a cable running from its base that ended in a white block with three prongs. Though this technology evaded his experience, Jack detached the lampshade from the alien form of the lightbulb. A strange glimmer caught his eye from within the material. He tilted the shade upside-down and peered at the small opening in its top from the wider end of the funnel.

A faint breeze emanated from the shade, playing upon the beads in his hair. His eyes glanced moodily to one side in light of what his logic proposed.

_If this doesn't work, I'm going to feel very stupid…_

Jack Sparrow flipped the lampshade so it was the right way up, raised it with both arms and plonked it onto his head. In seconds, the shade hit the floor, having gobbled up the man that had deigned to use it for a hat.

* * *

A long trail of entwined strips of ivy wound through the stone passages of the Labyrinth. Gripped within the purple squeaking gloves of Mr Wonka and Constable Crane's handkerchief it dangled into the yawning pit that was now devoid of tentacles.

"Mr Sparrow?" Ichabod shouted. "Can you hear me? We're sending down a vine. Grab hold of it and we'll pull you out." At the lack of response, the constable turned to the chocolatier. "Pass me more vine, if you would, sir." Greater lengths of ivy drooped into the blackness. "Mr Sparrow? Are you there?"

Crane sighed.

"Perhaps a little more, and waggle it about a bit?" he ventured.

Mr Wonka nodded and attempted to pull more of the makeshift rope. He frowned.

"I can't. It's stuck on somethin'."

Ichabod excused himself as he took the vine from William and attempted to pull it free of the unseen obstacle, to no avail.

"Well, that _is _odd, I could have sworn – _ah!_"

The vine was yanked sharply, pulling the constable to the floor and dragging him a fair way along the passageway before he had the sense to let go. Mr Wonka waited for him to get to his feet before they followed the ivy trail back to the courtyard and cautiously peered in.

"Constable. Wonka."

Jack gave this gruff greeting, arms folded, his clothes and face laced harrowingly with red droplets.

Reminded of the incident in Sleepy Hollow's medical facility, Ichabod swallowed. His brain began the slow descent into unconsciousness but was alerted into action by the pain of Mr Wonka's heel pressing firmly on his toes.

"Ow! I mean…_how_?" the constable gasped. "Are you…well?"

"Peachy, Mister Crane. And yourself?" Not bothering to wait for a reply, Jack sauntered towards them. He savoured Ichabod's guilty expression for as long as possible before putting him out of his misery. Indicating to the bloody flecks coating his shirt, he remarked candidly, "Oh, you mean this? I'm fine, mate. Found me way out of the hole and came out in the middle of one of the fountains, didn't I?"

He brushed off the red water as best as possible.

"So you figured this place out then?"

"Not as such…" the constable replied, masking his relief stoically.

Jack started as the troublesome bucket that had provided his ticket to the oubliette teetered out from behind a fountain and scuttled up to Mr Wonka. It leapt into the air, forcing Mr Wonka to catch it. The chocolatier held it out at arms' length in an attempt to keep its dirty little feet from his suit.

Ichabod broke away from them and wandered amidst the fountains until he came across the pedestal in the centre. He studied its shape for a while, looking at the grooves upon each layer of the pyramid.

"I think…I see…"

The others drew alongside him, the bucket having been passed (after much protest) to the pirate. Fortunately, the animated tub appeared to have otherwise forgiven or forgotten Jack's hostility.

"Mr Sparrow," said Ichabod. "Would you fill the bucket with water from a fountain, any fountain, and bring it back here?"

Still holding the bucket as delicately as possible, Jack struck up with a complaint.

"But…there's an 'ole in my bucket…"

The look of incredulity from the constable and the chocolatier drove Jack to grumble a quick 'Shut it' before trudging off on his task.

"Whatever you say, Henry …"

The pirate paused for only half a step at the chocolatier's quiet comment, before he shook his head and went on his way.


	15. Over the Rainbow, Sparrows Fly

**A/N: ***Breathes* Going to try and get one of these up each week, depends on time. Hope the quality of this'n is ok, I was a bit unwell today and fell asleep in the middle of writing it. Curses.

* * *

The companions gathered about the central pedestal in the courtyard, the one in buccaneer garb ready with the newly patched bucket. Jack tipped the contents into the lowest gutter. The red water sped around the square base. Only moments later, the liquid glowed and began to rise like baking bread. It formed a solid block at a halfway point up the second step. As the rest puzzled, the pirate hurried off to collect another batch – this time opting for blue. Rolling his eyes at the little container that giggled gurglingly, making bubbles on the surface, he upended the blue water into the second groove.

There was a rumbling. The blue liquid bubbled violently and rose from the gutter like an impossibly slow geyser. Up and up it went until it reached the top of the pyramid. Then, a disc of water formed at its summit and whirred ominously. They stepped back as the disc gained speed, appearing to suck up the blue jet that had been supporting it. Three nodules of water poked out of the disc and angled towards the onlookers like gun barrels.

"Move!" Jack cried.

No time to run, the constable; the chocolatier, and the pirate screamed as the blue water split apart and blasted them until the second gutter was completely empty. They sat up, dripping, Mr Wonka pouting at the state of his suit.

"What the bleedin' 'ell was that about?" Jack said, fuming.

"Clearly that was the wrong colour for the step," Ichabod replied.

"Oh _was _it, cleverbonce? I suppose you know which one is the _right_ colour, do you?"

"Not yet." The constable glowered. "But with trial and error I am confident we will succeed."

"Shotgun not me!" Wonka piped.

Jack propelled the bucket at Ichabod, who was surprised he actually caught it. "Paint the town, Bodders."

From the furthest end of the courtyard, Sparrow and Wonka watched the following colourful display of soaking explosions in fascination. After a good twenty minutes there came a triumphant "Aha!" from amongst the fountains.

"Mr Wonka!" Constable Crane shouted. "Mr Sparrow! Come here, if you please!"

Wary of being splattered, the two peered out from the cover of a fountain each. Ichabod cut a strange vision. His white shirt, where it wasn't protected by his waistcoat, was stained with a variety of hues. His face had flecks of purple and black upon each cheek and his hands were red as beetroot. He pointed to the second gutter, in which now sat a very solid-looking block of orange.

"Apparently we need to mix some of them," he said, the corners of his mouth turned upwards in his subtle method of showing he was in a good mood. "And I think it might strike you as to what pattern of colours we in fact need to use."

Jack was already off with the bucket, scooping out of the yellow fountain. The third gutter rewarded him with another opaque block.

"Why, it's a rainbow!" beamed Mr Wonka, paying little heed to the pirate as he dashed back and forth performing all the legwork. "Well, isn't that fantastic?"

Gradually the pyramid built up, higher and higher, Jack having to clamber up the steps to reach the upper levels. He had almost finished when the others were startled by a loud, echoing, "Aaaaagh!"

The pirate was launched from the summit of the pedestal by a great torrent of purplish water. In typical Sparrow style he sailed through the air, arms and legs flailing, and landed headfirst in the black fountain, the bucket bouncing off the paving stones. He emerged, only his scowling eyes visible beneath the tar-like liquid.

Jack spat out a globule and grumbled, "Anyone got any pragmatic hints on makin' indigo?"

"Try a touch of brown," Mr Wonka said with a smirk.

Jack's glare became more intense. "Brown?" He seethed as he clambered out and made his way over to rescue the bucket that was wheeling helplessly around on its side. "' Course it would be brown, wouldn'it. Every bloody fountain…"

"I suppose you could miss out the white," Ichabod suggested.

Jack replied only with a bitter smile and the _digitus infamis_, before stalking off to collect the required colours. At last, after persuading the bucket to do a little tap-dance until the liquids were thoroughly mixed, he scrambled up the pyramid and poured it into the penultimate groove. The purple concoction followed swiftly. Completed, the puzzle pedestal shimmered and began to spin. The pirate dropped hastily to the ground, standing alongside the others as they watched the succeeding display. The pedestal of multi-coloured blocks rose up, narrowed and then exploded into a solid rainbow, arcing across a high wall.

The bucket wriggled out of Jack's grasp and dashed up the contour of the rainbow. With a whooping sound it kicked its miniscule feet together and slid down the other side into what lay beyond.

"I've just about had enough of this weirdness," Sparrow sighed.

"Get over it," said Wonka, adding quickly afterwards, "Uh, I meant the rainbow? Duh."

With various low mutterings from all parties, they traversed the striped bridge to the awaiting continuance of the Labyrinth. They tumbled onto the monotonous stone; another courtyard stretching out ahead. This one was studded with varying fruit trees - a sparse orchard, if you will. Although, the fruit did not appear to be from any reality any of the companions had ever heard of. Mr Wonka might have dreamed them, but they were certainly not of natural growth in his world. Gong-shaped; spiral-shaped; some like two dumb-bells crossing over one another; cloud-textured; aquamarine-hued, some forming in manners that might have made even Jack blush. Almost.

Only one person did not care to notice the unusual trees, and that was William. He stared at the figure who awaited them, standing in the middle of the courtyard.

"Edward!"

The chocolatier cleared the space between them in surprisingly few steps. Edward turned to him, his incomplete arms offering out the item he had brought on his journey.

"Mr Wonka…"

"Hey, you found my cane," Willy exclaimed, taking it back gleefully. "Well, ain't you just the brightest sparkler in the…" He caught sight of the boy's eyes. "…box." The melancholy overwhelmed Mr Wonka. Never had he seen such profound sadness and pain, and he had been fairly well-travelled when he was younger and less careful. "It happened, didn't it?" he said eventually.

Edward nodded slowly.

He could not help it, but Mr Wonka withdrew a few paces. The look he received nearly broke his heart.

Noticing the 'opportune' gap in the conversation, Jack sauntered over – having given the end of the rainbow a thorough search for plunder – and addressed the arrival.

"'Allo, Eddie. Pleasure to see you again."

The lethally handed boy gave him an unusually wild stare. "Please don't call me that."

Face falling, Captain Sparrow dipped a quick bow and replied, "As you wish." He glanced over to Mr Wonka, who was bringing an equal font of speech to the situation. For the lack of anything else to say, and sensing that there was no use pressuring either of them for explanations, Jack muttered, "That was never an hour."

After a few more awkward moments, Edward and Mr Wonka moved further into the orchard to discuss the unfortunate events that had happened to the boy in his own world, leaving Jack to his own devices. The pirate was becoming increasingly agitated at the passage of time and this lull in moving forward was an unwelcome addition. He scoured the orchard for exits and, worryingly, found none. The four walls were too high, with no gate, and the rainbow had vanished when he returned – even the bucket had disappeared.

Jack scowled at the irritatingly pretty trees. Up until now he felt he had been withholding his potential from the others. Up until now he had been the clown of the story, the clumsy hapless idiot that stumbled across every trap, the voice of cheek whilst Crane and Wonka did all the thinking. They had not an inkling of Captain Jack Sparrow's authority, his cunning, his astonishing luck and…and wit.

He walked up to the nearest tree and plucked a gong-shaped fruit from its branches. It occurred to him that he did not care if it were poisoned. Better than the gallows. Even if people wouldn't remember him.

Well, it was better than being a goblin anyway.

A red serpent emerged from the tree's leaves and coiled about the branch. It leaned out its head to face the pirate and opened its jaws.

"If you're here to spin me some tripe about giving in to temptation, save it," said Jack, pointing a finger at the onlooker's snout, not bothering to take his eyes off the fruit. "I am going to consider me stomach and I am going to eat it. So, shoo."

The snake gave a look of bafflement and slowly retreated into the leaves again.

Sparrow rubbed the weird victual on the breast of his shirt and bit into its flesh. The texture was disgusting at best. Like crunching through the wafer of a Flying Saucer sweet but instead of tasting sherbet in the centre, getting a mouthful of water. Something struck him across the face. The fruit dropped from his hand and he tumbled for the mossy ground. It did not catch him. Inexplicably, he fell a short distance through darkness and rolled across creaking wood. When he found the momentum to get to his feet, he looked to his surroundings and let a smile cross his face.

He was on a ship, a galleon, like his own. Across the prow and to larboard he could see several other ships making up a fleet, lanterns glimmering at the masts. A few yards ahead of the starboard side was a great wall of fog, through which nothing could be seen. This would have held Jack's attention for longer if an odd chittering sound had not startled him. Gingerly, he pivoted about to view the length of the ship.

His jaw dropped.

A platoon of four-foot sparrows stood in rows on the main deck and saluted. There came a dull boom from the fog, saving Jack from having to respond. A cannonball skimmed the air above the deck, taking a screeching crewmember with it. There was a splash. The remaining sparrows chirped nervously and gave another, more half-hearted, salute.

"Not good," said Captain Sparrow, through his teeth.


	16. Under Fire

Mr Wonka got to his feet, steadying himself with his cane. He was bemused, to say the least. One moment he had been standing in a perfectly extraordinary courtyard talking sensitively with Edward, and then –

Edward. Where was he?

Concern etched on the chocolatier's features; he began to register where he was. An accurately scaled replica of his boiled-sweet boat drifted on murky waves near a vast cloud of fog, the oars manned by a squadron of goblins that had painted their faces orange. Four other goblin-OompaLoompas stood separately at each corner of the longboat, each hoisting a cannon strapped to their shoulders.

"Well that's…weird," was all he could comment at present. Mr Wonka trod carefully so as not to imbalance the boat and peered over the waters. There were several other sailing vessels dotted about the area: a galleon close by, a frigate, and two caravels. In comparison, his ship might as well have been an inflatable duck.

A thunderous roar; a cannonball soared across the deck of the great galleon and plunged a few metres away from the incomplete seahorse-boat. A disturbing flurry of feathers exploded around the froth where the ball had dropped.

"Oh golly," Wonka gulped. He looked with an uncomfortable expectance towards his fake crew. "You guys, get paddling 'round back of that big ship over there at the double! We need cover prontifico, 'kay?"

The painted goblins snickered but obeyed his command, if sloppily. Once they had drawn up along the port side of the galleon, so that the great ship acted as a barricade from the unseen attackers, Willy rapped hard on the hull with his cane.

* * *

"You there, get up in the crow's and watch those flashes. I want to know every co-ordinate of this hellfire. You, you, and you, man…pardon… _bird_ the lighter guns. Oi!" Jack strolled over to a rather dithering crewmember, a bedraggled moulting creature. "Stand to attention when the captain's giving orders. What ails you, mate, are you bli-?" He spun the anthropomorphic bird about, and cringed. "Oh. As you were." He patted the double eye-patched sailor on the shoulder and meandered on his way. "You lot, get below decks and roll out the heavies. Anyone up in the sails get your feathery backsides to a cannon or make yerselves scarce 'less ye want to join your friend on the shortest flight of your life!"

His shouts were interrupted by a loud knocking coming from below. Wrinkling his nose in confusion, Captain Sparrow marched over to the gunwale and cast his eyes over the side.

"Wonka? What you doing in a dinghy?" He signalled a passing sparrow that had been trying to avoid eye contact. "Haul to with a rope, son. Man overboard." Jack looked back down to the chocolatier, flinching as another giant shot whizzed by and shattered a lantern. "Where's the boy?"

"_I _don't know!" Willy grumbled. "I don't even know where _I _am." He looked up accusingly at the pirate. "_You_ did this, didn't ya?"

Jack's voice raised distinctly in pitch in his indignance. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about." He disappeared from sight to escape the daggers of Wonka's scowl.

* * *

As it happened, Edward had been deposited upon the deck of the frigate and was finding it extremely difficult to get up. This was due to the fact that vast quantities of the boards were lathered with ice. The rest was frosty at best. He gave up for the time being and merely attempted to grasp what was happening around him.

A bulky shape skated past. A beat, and it skated backwards, coming to a halt in front of him. Two beady eyes stared at him, somehow conveying the same deep silence that the boy so frequently emitted. From a frosty pocket, the snowman pulled out a tin whistle and shoved it into the space below his orange, vegetable nose. The ensuing shrill noise brought on the attention of the rest of the crew.

Snowmen of all shapes and sizes bounced, slid and rolled their way across the deck to stare at the stowaway. Some had eyes of coal, others buttons; most had fingerless stubby arms of snow, whilst a few sported flimsy sticks; there was even the occasional hat or pipe accessory, and one was hobbling about in a fur coat. The amassing crowd parted as a larger snowman stomped into view. He had a harmonica stuffed where his mouth should have been and a tall midshipman's hat placed on his icy head. His body was balanced upon two peg legs. It was hardly worth noting the parrot ice-sculpture on his shoulder, which every so often squawked out a few snowflakes.

The snowcaptain stepped up to the shivering Edward and glowered with his sinister, raisin eyes. It swayed a little on its wooden stumps when its gaze swept the peculiar sight of the boy's arms, darting forward and lifting one of the scissors for inspection. All of a sudden it became excited and beckoned to two other crewmembers. A few toots from its instrumental mouth ordered them to bounce off. They returned with a block of ice about the size of a coffee table and set it down just in front of Edward.

The captain pointed ardently at the block. Edward looked from the block to the snowman, pleading for clarity. The snowcaptain stamped his foot, blew out a discordant note and swivelled about on its pegs in consideration. A few seconds later, it scooped up a clump of snow, packed it into a ball and strode over to a nearby cannon. It demonstrated the action of putting the snowball into the cannon's nozzle, then held up the ball and crushed it into powder. Reforming the ball, it returned to stand before the boy and indicated between the snowball and the ice-block.

Edward understood. He raised his arms and flexed his sharp fingers, frowning in concentration at the task ahead. He crawled closer to the block, kneeling as though at an altar – and began. Flakes whirled into the air creating a gentle blizzard above the frigate. The boy snipped, sliced, shaved, scraped, caressed…until there it was: a perfect sphere of ice.

The snowmen regarded him with awe, teetering on their bulbous abdomens. Then they burst into applause in whatever form they could; lowest layers thumping the boards, stick fingers rustling and packed snow crunching.

Their joy was interrupted by the sound of cannon-fire in uncomfortably close proximity. The frosty crew flinched. The snowcaptain let out a deflated tone on his harmonica. All at once a number of the snowmen dropped before Edward and wrung their stumpy hands together, some pushing more blocks of ice in his direction.

The boy looked up into the deepening raisins of the captain, and nodded.

* * *

Constable Crane paced the cell floor in agitation. This was only his second visit to the castle and already he hated these moments of solace, for he was no longer able to lend his brains to the Labyrinth's puzzles. He knew he should be grateful for the rest but he wanted it over with, to return to Sleepy Hollow and put the myth back in its grave.

"I do wish you would get some sleep, Ichabod," Katrina's delicate voice sang from the passageway. "It hurts to see you suffer so."

"I would rather you keep your games outside of the mind, madam." Crane turned to see the Goblin Queen standing at the bars, a smirk dancing upon her lips. Her attire altered for each of her prisoners. For him, she wore her tresses pinned back but for two dark pincers of hair curving about her face. Her dress was plain, unadulterated white, covering over wrists and ankles.

She pouted. "Oh, but those are my favourite kind." When he said nothing more, she remarked in her true dialect, "So quickly you banish your manners, Constable, and yet here you are in a comfortable guest room with not a chain in sight. Will you not engage with me in polite conversation?"

Ichabod ground his teeth before walking sullenly over to the front of the cell, hands clasped at his back. "Very well," he said. "Of what would you have us speak? Mind that I will tell you no more of the others, so do not think to concern yourself with them."

The Queen smiled nastily. "Why, were there more of them?"

"No," he lied. "But you will not find my tongue as loose as Mr Sparrow's when it comes to idle gossip."

"You have not forgiven him, and neither one of you have shot the other? That _is _disappointing. You have far too much honour to be entertaining. Either that, or not enough spine."

"You cannot goad me, madam."

"Indeed?" she chuckled. "We'll have to see about that. Anyway, I fear it is doing you no good staying cooped up in this room. Walk with me." She cast her hand aside at the cell door. It swung inwards, very nearly taking the skin off Ichabod's nose. "Since you will not tell me of your experience with the others, and I already know plenty about you, perhaps you wish ask a little something about me?"

Crane stepped out into the passageway, grimacing as she slipped her arm into his and led him from the dungeon. "Then first I shall ask, aside from a queen, what _are_ you? I do not see anything resembling a goblin, personality aside, about you."

The Queen grinned, revealing her pointed canines. "Oh I _am _a goblin. Or at least, I have been for as long as I can recall. The Original dictates that when the runner of the Labyrinth fails, or refuses to run it at all, the Goblin King or Queen keeps the child and turns it into a goblin. Sooner or later, the Original Kingdom becomes full to the brim with goblins, and has to branch out into new territories. Dimensions, if you will. Each territory requires a new ruler, and whoever earns the right gets to resume mortal appearance at whatever age they choose, although most tend to pick their 'prime' of life."

"And you passed the test, it would seem?"

"Flying colours. Flying bits of a lot of things, actually."

Ichabod blanched.

"Don't stop now, Constable. Ask away," she purred.

There were many questions falling over one another to have themselves said, and the one that reached the constable's tongue was this:

"Why?"

* * *

The front half of Wonka's pink boat exploded in a shower of candy shards, struck squarely in the unfinished figurehead. Oompa-goblins spilled into the waters.

"Tarnation!" cried the chocolatier. He was trying to keep his hat on, and maintain hold on his cane, as he ascended the side of the galleon with the aid of a poorly restrained rope. "Mr Sparrow! No, not you -," he grumbled exasperatedly at the confused bird tugging at the cord from the deck, "the pirate! That stupid, ninny-headed, doggone -."

Jack's face peered over the rails. "Beg pardon, Wonka?"

William scowled. "Just you get me up on that ship, mister!"

"Or you'll what?"

A chirping cheer Mexican-waved about the ship as one of the sparrow vessel's cannons struck home.

"Jack!"

The Captain rolled his eyes. "All right, all right." He motioned to the struggling rope-puller. "Shift over." Jack stumbled as he took hold, almost sending Mr Wonka plunging. He planted a boot against the gunwale. "Bloody 'ell, you got an elephant under that hat?"

"Hey, if you can't take your own weight, don't lay the blame out on me!"

Another cannonball soared by, smacking clear the weight of the Oompa-goblin that was hanging onto the bottom of the rope. The sudden slack made Jack stagger backwards along the deck, catapulting the chocolatier aboard. In the nick of time, it appeared, for moments later there came another almighty boom and the next cannonball shattered the candy boat into wreckage. The Oompa-goblins swam off in a sorry state, one or two making rather poor re-enactments of a scene from Titanic.

Catching his breath, Wonka rounded on Jack, both of them adjusting their hats. "Who, what and why in the world are they shootin' at us, Mr Sparrow?" He butted in before the pirate could respond. "Wait a sec'. Lemme rephrase, 'kay? Who, what and why in the world are they shootin' at _me_, Mr Sparrow? I mean, it's only expected to get shot at if you go around doing pirate things. I'm concerned that it's not a lifestyle conducive to survival."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "And you wanted to come aboard _this _ship?"

William opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it again. He gave a wincing expression that he hoped conveyed: _Your ship was bigger, you probably know what you're doing, I'm just gonna go hide behind a barrel or somethin' now, 'kay?_

Captain Sparrow nodded regardless and returned to manning the ship.

"Excellent work, lads…and ladies," he added, noticing a rather affronted and buxom bird bustling about with an egg under her wing, "we've almost got 'er. Aim for the flames. Give 'er everything you've got. Focus your fire on the one what's damaged." He grinned, the light of the fire in the mists tickling his eyes. "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me…"


	17. Breaking the Rules

**A/N:** Another chapter, _finally_. Yes it's what you're all thinking. Well, me too. It didn't turn out as long as last chapter sadly, even when I'd got through six pages of writing paper. Slightly worried Jack doesn't seem his proper self, meh. Hopefully you'll be getting more updates like this after the end of next month and much more frequently, because I'll have my own study at last! Please do enjoy. I'm now off for some food, since I randomly managed to starve myself in the desperation to get this written. Doh. Thank you so much for the reviews, keep them coming. The more reviews I get, the more guilty I feel about not updating ;P

* * *

"Got it!" Jack cheered at the distant sound of goblin screams and splintering wood. The last volley of his ship's cannons had found their mark and the final shot had sunk the most aggressive enemy. The crew of sparrows chirruped in relief, a few leaning over the railings to waggle their wings in front of their beaks at some passing goblins in pedal boats.

"Bravo! Well done!" Willy cried, popping his head out of the cabin for the briefest of moments.

"Not over yet, Mr Wonka!" The Captain rallied his feathery crew: "Keep lookout for more of their shots. Our fleet's still under fire. Particularly -." He snatched a spyglass from an unwitting bird and trained it on the frigate in view over the prow that was barely avoiding a heavy assault. "That one…" Jack pulled his face away from the spyglass, blinked, looked again, and then turned it around to check the lens before peering into the eyepiece once more. There were _snowmen _on board the frigate – dozens of three-tiered bodies bouncing and sliding around, swinging on the stay-ropes, manning the guns. The whole ship was crusted with ice and the sails were dusted with snowflakes. The rear of the maindeck was spewing out fluffy white particles. Jack moved the spyglass towards the source of the freak weather condition.

"Well, I've found the boy."

Sure enough, there was Edward, his scissors snipping in an invisible flurry as he sculpted scores of ice cannonballs in a matter of moments. The snowmen bounced into a cheer as one of their guns struck home. Seeing the retaliating spurt of flame of one of the goblin armada, Captain Sparrow ordered the birds of his namesake to target. A crescendo of flapping feathers signalled applause as their aim made true.

Their glee was short-lived. Jack's smile melted as the next flare from the enemy sent a shot hurtling into the foremast. Timber exploded, raining splinters onto the deck. Sparrow shielded himself before he dashed to set the sails, shouting, "Hard to port! Don't give 'em an easy target of our broadside."

The lack of response caused him to look around from the tack he was pulling. Many of the crew had paused, staring at him in bafflement.

"Bloody useless deck'ands the lot o' you," Jack grumbled before yelling, "Shift that rudder, I want movement _that-way_!" He pointed to the stretch of safer waters leading away from the battle.

The birds merely looked at him apologetically. Annoyed, Jack abandoned the sails and bounded up the steps to the helm. He grasped the wheel and spun it. It span a little too fast. The ship bobbed, nothing more. Frowning, he looked up to the sails. Not even a light breeze tickled them. They were dead in the water. If they weren't careful, that would not just be a metaphor.

Across the waves came the faint din of more goblin squeals. Edward's ship had struck another target. Sparrow glanced about at his resources. He hurried back down to the maindeck. "You lot ready the longboats, and you," he barked, indicating separate clusters of crewbirds, "Roll out _all _the cannons, gundeck and topside. Fire at will. Go! Move it!"

Another volley of cannonfire from the goblin fleet bulled over the water and crashed through the sparrow ship's starboard side. Feathers billowed up the stairs from below. Jack grimaced. The vessel began to creak and groan. The birds returned fire and were rewarded with more shrieks in the fog. Again, the sinister booming rang out. Jack threw himself down as a shot zipped past and ripped a chunk from the rails behind him. The lower decks took another full force assault. Glass shattered nearby. The cabin doors had been blasted off their hinges.

The chocolatier's hat rolled out and came to rest in front of the Captain's nose.

Struck numb with the sense of drawn out time, Jack got to his feet and picked up Willy's hat. He approached the cabin cautiously, the screeches of injured sparrows behind him.

"Wonka?"

Jack crept into the room. The bay window had scattered its remnants across the desk and floor. A globe lay broken on the boards.

"J-Jack," said a quiet voice.

Sparrow looked down to one side of the doorway to see Mr Wonka crouched, his back against the wall, his chocolate, pageboy hair dishevelled and hiding his face.

"Do ya think I could still run the factory as a goblin?" The chocolatier turned his head to look up at the pirate, his purple eyes brimming with fear. A thin trickle of blood ran from his forehead to his left cheek. "I don't think I wanna die."

"You won't," Jack replied. "I'm giving the call to abandon ship. Now let's go." He reached down to help Wonka but the vainglorious man flinched at his dirty hands. Sparrow rolled his eyes, grabbed hold of Willy and hauled him to his feet. Once he was over the shock, Wonka snatched his hat back, dusted it and returned it to his head. He sniffed haughtily at Jack, and promptly stumbled.

"Easy," Jack warned, steadying him. "I'm not 'aving you do a Crane on me. Come on, Will, let's get you off this heap o' kindling." He walked back out onto the deck.

"Will?" Wonka blurted. "Didn't you order them to _fire _at W-?"

"All ha- wings to the longboats! Abandon ship!" Squawks of mixed relief and panic filled the air at the Captain's shouts. The crew scrambled for the boats that were already lowering into the water.

Jack turned back to Willy. "Go," he ordered.

"But -."

Sparrow drew his pistol and touched the barrel to Wonka's nose. What was more unnerving was that Jack was smiling. "Get in the bloody boat."

"Yessir." William bolted for the longboat.

As the galleon emptied around him, Jack moved to the starboard rails and squinted into the mists. The flickering of lasting flames informed him that the attackers had been damaged by Edward's frigate. He allowed himself a sneer of contempt. Then, he crossed back to see the longboats, Mr Wonka squashed in awkwardly amongst the scruffy birds.

"Cast off," said Sparrow. "Get out of their range. We might have them before they do us. If they fire on us again, I'll follow. Get to Master Edward's ship."

Willy snorted. "And since when did you stop being a chicken?"

"I'll 'ave you know some types of chicken are huge and vicious enough to chase the farmer 'round the field. Now _cast off_."

Greenskin screams drew Jack's attention to the other side of the ship once more. He grinned. By the sounds of it, another enemy vessel was sinking. Sparrow made for one of the topside cannons and wheeled it backwards in order to reload it. He picked up a parchment cartridge of gunpowder near the abandoned post and reached to put it in the cannon's concave.

A blast echoed from the fog. There was an unusual hissing sound that grew louder at a concerning rate. A blazing sphere hurtled across the deck and stopped in mid air. Jack straightened and blinked at the flaming cannonball. It _turned_, revealing a demonic pair of eyes and a grinning mouth. The cannonball laughed. Jack's moustache twitched in nervous confusion. The sizzling shot hovered towards him, its heat enough to make him step back. It dipped in the air and matched the height of the hand in which Jack still held the powder cartridge. It _sniffed_. He flinched and dropped the parcel. The fiery cannonball grinned and laughed again. Then, it zipped around the topdeck, halting on occasion; searching; sniffing. Warily, Jack watched it, carefully picking his way towards the escaping longboats. They were already too far out to jump into.

The fireball stopped somewhere above the midsection of the deck, at which point it grinned horribly at Jack. He froze. He calculated swiftly what lay below decks. The stores were centralised in order that the supplies were not contaminated by water, nor damaged too easily during an attack. Directly beneath the cannonball, only a few decks down, were the weapons, the ammunitions and…the gunpowder. No sooner had Jack's eyes registered what the fireball knew, it gave a shriek of manic laughter and plummeted through the boards.

"That can't be good," whimpered Jack. The message for his feet to run came not a moment too soon. Jack bolted for the rails and leapt clear a split-second before the entire galleon detonated.

* * *

"Why what, Constable Crane?" the Queen said with a smile.

"Why us? What possible value can we be to you, and why take the trouble to visit other worlds when you could trick souls from your own? Someone else from Jack's home, for example."

She laughed soundlessly. "Ah, and what makes you think I am from Jack's world? That I took him first? No, his was merely the first I found. The entrance appeared one day, for those who know how to look for it, and I explored. Through him I managed to extract the paths to each of yours. I became, shall we say, _fascinated _by the extraordinary fact that you were all connected. I had never before seen dimensional connections in a mortal realm. You are all unique. I _like _unique."

Ichabod inhaled deeply to reign in his temper. "Then why must you turn us into goblins? Why put us through these trials?"

Her eyes glittered in a somewhat feral fashion. "For pets to be tamed they need to be broken in. The goblin is a cage for the desire and the physical capacity to escape. The greater parts of your souls will be kept safe and enjoyed should any of you wish to serve me. You might consider me a _collector_."

The constable swallowed. "Y-you cannot do this. There are laws -."

"Which I am not bound by. Tell me, Ichabod, does the cardinal bird have a say in whether he flies free or pines behind the bars of one of your cages?" She gave the bars of his cell a satisfied glance. "There is no difference to me. Human liberties are no obstacle, and the rules of my world were easily bent when the means to travel mortal dimensions came into fruition. I have yet to be sure whom to thank for that. Mr Wonka, perhaps?"

Retaining his stubborn pout, Crane held his nerve enough to press, "You say you are not from Jack's world. Then whose are you from?"

The Queen snickered. "How self-centred of you. _My _world of course."

"You know very well what I mean, madam. Is there another one of us, of _me _in your world?"

"All in good time, my dear constable. All in good -." She vanished from her place outside of the cell and manifested beside him, blowing dust from her cupped hand into his face. "Time." She giggled as Crane's eyes closed and he sagged to the prison floor.


	18. Three Men In A Boat

**A/N**: Shock, horror, another chapter so soon! What can I say? I felt awful for leaving it so long. This is a somewhat more serious chapter and a chance for a little more reflection. I'm a tad worried there is a lack of the usual humour and I hope it comes across as character development. Hopefully the bouncy fun I managed to write earlier will return in the next chapter onwards. Enjoy and please do review if you can. That way I know how many of you are still keeping up with it. Thanks again to my usual readers, and new ones alike :D - DFQ xxx (Oh, and I forgot to do this in the previous edit, but I'd love it if ye could R&R my short story "No Nasty Surprises", one of my favourite little Jack adventures. Just look on my profile page list. Ta!)

* * *

Out on a clear sea, a small rowboat skimmed through gentle waves. The warring vessels and the fog had dispersed, and the snowmen, though victorious, had given up the frigate, for it had been damaged beyond saving. With the late afternoon sun they had melted. As for the sparrows, they remembered how to fly and took off without so much as offering a lift, leaving the human survivors to continue their journey alone.

Jack pulled on the oars with the best of his strength. His clothes were still soggy after his narrow escape from the ship's explosion. He shivered. The sun here was not as hot as the Caribbean climes and reminded him sorely of the English Channel. At the other end of the boat, Edward was sat watching Mr Wonka doze where he lay in the centre. The boy looked so mournful that Jack doubted it was simply out of concern for the chocolatier with a slight scratch on his face.

"Am I wrong in thinking you to be troubled, lad?" he asked as he rowed.

Edward looked up at him but made no reply.

"Wishing you were back 'ome?"

"No," said the boy. "I don't want to go back."

"As bad as all that?"

A few long minutes passed. Then Edward said quietly, "I killed someone."

Jack gave him a reassuring grin. "Goblins ain't _someone_. Half the little rodents are fakin' it anyway." He nodded towards a barrel that was bobbing by with a dead goblin sprawled dramatically across its top. Overhearing the conversation, the bloody 'corpse' promptly sat up, stuck his tongue out and hurled a bottle of ketchup at the pirate's head. Jack ducked the missile and resumed grinning at the boy.

"Not a goblin. A person." Edward's voice was a chilling monotone. "He tried to kill me, and he hurt…Kim."

"Kim?"

"She was…my friend."

"Ah." Jack knew all too well that look in the eyes of young men. Young Edward had been _vexed_. This was altogether not unlike being _h_exed, but for the fact that most of your average hexes didn't go straight for the heart, make you gibber like a madman and develop the common delusion that any woman would be impressed with 'that-interesting-thing-I-found-on-the-roadside-and-it-made-me-think-of-you'. Although there had been that old woman in St. Kitts for whom every sensible local left a shilling at least once a week if they valued their sanity. "Then by all accounts it could not be helped. Whilst men like you and I still uphold the age-old courtesy of choosing not to harm an unarmed maid, there will always be some black-hearted fool who will. You did what you 'ad to, to survive."

Jack brought the oars to a rest and let the boat drift on its own for a short while. His thoughts took him back to the moment he had taken his revenge upon Barbossa, his mutinous ex-first mate, for leaving him to die, and taking his ship, let alone damaging his reputation in the Caribbean. The one shot he had, _Crane's_ spare shot, had pierced Hector's heart only a second after the old man had turned his pistol upon Elizabeth. Not that it had meant all that much to Jack. It was an 'opportune moment', which she had provided. He respected Miss Swann, as much as a rotten, lecherous pirate could manage. Yet, somewhere within the instance that he pulled the trigger, could there have been the slightest trace of chivalry? Or was it simply greed?

Sparrow emerged from his musings to see a finger and thumb clicking in front of his eyes.

"Welcome back, Mr Sparrow," said Constable Crane. "If I am not mistaken, that was your first flashback."

Jack blinked. "Crane? When did you get 'ere?"

"A moment ago. I was fortunate enough to arrive _inside _the boat." Crane gave the lapping waters a worried glance. "Do you suppose it's safe?"

"We didn't have a lot of choice, Mr Crane. If you can spot a port where we might negotiate a better mode of transport, please don't neglect to inform me." Jack took up the oars again and set the boat into motion.

Ichabod looked to the pirate. "Are you quite well? You look somewhat…damp. Did you fall in?"

Sparrow rolled the oars with a little more aggression. "_Did I fall in…?_"

Edward spoke behind Crane, saving him the trouble of dealing with Jack's contempt. "There was a battle. Ships were firing at each other. I think we won, but none of the ships were left."

Ichabod turned in surprise from where he sat in the bottom of the boat. "Master Edward. Good heavens. It is good to see you again, however ill the circumstances. How are you?"

Jack noted Edward's tenseness. The scissors scraped open and closed with his anxiety. "Best leave him be. He's had a hard time."

The constable gave Edward a weak smile before turning back to the pirate. "You say there was a battle? Was anyone hurt?"

Sparrow shrugged. "Few of consequence. Mostly goblins. Mr Wonka took on a shower of glass but he should be fine."

Ichabod nodded. "Dare I ask how we got here?"

"Wouldn't believe me if I told you, which is not really a lick of difference from anything else I am ever likely to tell you."

"Why must you make every conversation we have so difficult?" Crane sighed. "For a man who enjoys the use of words, you seem loath to offer me so much as a hint of pleasantry."

Jack smiled. "Perhaps it is the _un_pleasantries I prefer using in our exchanges. Perhaps I find it all rather amusing."

"You are quite impossible."

"Quite _improbable_, Mr Crane. One cannot presume to quantify impossibility. It is a somewhat static term, wouldn't you agree?"

The constable rubbed his temples. "Where are we heading?"

"From what I saw out the castle window, we need to reach that moun'ain range be'ind me. By my estimation it'll take at least a few hours' rowing to get us there. I don't know about you, mate, but I've hardly eaten nor slept since the day before I arrived 'ere. I'm not one for sad commentaries but the chances of me 'aving the energy to get us there are wearing thin."

"Then I will row. The Queen is due to take you away next, is she not? When you are gone, I shall take the oars."

Jack smirked. "I fear the might of your scrawny arms would not be suited to the task, Constable. Mr Wonka has surely performed more physical labours than a man of your standing."

"Apparently you have never taken the pains to lift a book of law. Then again, of what use would it be to you?"

"Always a challenge to know what new laws there are to be broken." The pirate grinned.

Ichabod glowered. "If you were in my world, Mr Sparrow, I would see that justice placed itself upon you. I would delight in your arrest, to show you the error of your foolish conduct."

"And where would the opportunity for me to learn come from, I wonder? What does your _justice _dictate would happen to me should I allow myself to be arrested?"

"You would stand trial. Admit your crimes to the world, set yourself as an example to those who would desire to walk your path. Leeching from the labours of your fellow man, living a fruitless life that is a danger to yourself and to others. Why, it is astonishing you would even conceive of it! I would see that you apologised, and -."

"And then?"

"Hmm?"

"Were I of the mind to display the many sins of Captain Jack Sparrow, were I to plead guilty upon every account, were I to _beg _for the greatest of mercies that the courts could bestow in your world, what is the lightest of penalties I might expect once the trial had reached its inevitable conclusion?"

Crane opened his mouth to speak. The memory of the screams, the worryingly convincing whimpers of innocence, the ignorant judicial system that had shunned his concept of searching for truth and sent him to Sleepy Hollow on a journey of ridicule…it stuck in his throat. He looked away from Jack, who laughed with a trace of bitterness.

"I am a pirate, Crane. _Hostis humani generis_, 'the enemy of all mankind'. I could be five years old with the only crime to my name being an apple dropping into my 'ands from a market stall, for all whosever Majesty's law cares. By my birth, my only right is a hanging. Pray tell how I am to learn from that? But no worries, eh? I'm not intending to get meself into the noose…again," Jack added quietly.

"I do not wish you dead, Jack. Punished, certainly, but not dead, not at all."

The pirate gave him a wry smile. "Well ta very much, mate. Remind me not to accidentally let me pistol go off the next time you turn your back."

Dusk had begun to set in. The three passengers sat in silence for a time, listening to the satin-strummed waves and the gulp of the water as the oars hit in rhythm. The movement eased their minds. Edward curled up, his arms splayed over the side for safety, and drifted into slumber. Ichabod lay back on the boat's floor, choosing to stare up at the indigo sky rather than interrupt Jack's labours any further. He rested for what felt like a long while considering their short changeovers, not sleeping, trying not to worry about how far they had yet to go.

"There's an island," Sparrow said eventually. "I noticed the trees before you arrived but I was not certain of the distance. There might be food there, but it will mean losing time on our course for the moun'ains."

"What do you suggest?" asked the constable.

"I say we make berth there. Unless 'er ladyship of the goblin-kind plans on dropping a ready-prepared banquet in our laps, I don't hold much hope that the moun'ains will provide."

"Very well. We make for the island then. There is no use in starving ourse-." Ichabod broke off at the sound of two light splashes. He sat up and looked at the empty seat where Jack had been. A glum-looking Mr Wonka perched on the seat near Edward, head in his purple-gloved hands, a small sliver of dried blood just above his left eyebrow.

"Ah phooey," said the chocolatier. "I'm tellin' ya I gotta _whole _lotta kinds of candy I'd love to feed that snippy sister if I just had one itsy-bitsy chance. See how she'd try laughin' at me with her teeth all stuck together with taffee!"

Constable Crane fished the oars out of the water before they could float off and began puzzling out how to use them. It was a simple enough concept to understand but putting it into practice for the first time was another matter.

"Did she tell you anything about why we are here or where she is from?"

"Nah," Wonka replied. "Mostly she stood around 'n' giggled herself silly. Then she got in a huff and left 'cause I ignored her. Couldn't get any sleep either. Her goshdarn goblin cronies whacked at the bars the rest of the time, and I'm doggone famished."

Ichabod nodded sympathetically. "I will attempt to carry on where Mr Sparrow left off. Hopefully we will reach that island before it gets too dark. We hope to find some sustenance there. Rest now while you can and when you feel in well enough spirits I will tell you what I have discovered. Only…" He frowned, at last getting the boat to continue its course.

"Huh?"

"Do you not find it a little…strange…that there is one person that the Queen has _not _tried to bring into the game?"

Willy met Ichabod's gaze nervously. "Maybe no one's been thinkin' about him 'til now. I sure hope she doesn't work it out. Anyhoo, I'll be catchin' a few z's. Wake me when we get to land, 'kay?" Not waiting for a reply, Mr Wonka lay down on the boat floor and placed his hands together beneath his head like a child pretending to sleep.

Crane grimaced with the effort of the vessel's pull, making a mental note not to inform Jack how much stronger he clearly was. "I hope you are right, sir," he whispered. "I hope so indeed."


	19. Into the Jungle

**A/N**: Huzzah, I managed to fit one more chapter in before the working week. A little shorter but hopefully a bit more of a giggle than the last two. I hope this satisfies some of those Jack gluttons out there. Enjoy and please, please continue to review if you can, even if it's just to say whether you liked it or not. I don't expect a long critique (though they are awesome). Thanks again, DFQ xxx

* * *

"Jack? Are you awake?"

The voice was familiar, unmistakable even.

"Will?" The pirate captain turned his head on the startlingly comfortable surface upon which he lay and opened his eyes. The blacksmith stood at the bedside, worry etched upon his good-natured face. It was a dainty, noble room; all light browns and creams, oil paintings and mirrors. In Jack's upper peripheral view he could just make out the lace curtains that presumably would have guarded the bed's usual occupant.

Turner broke into a relieved smile. "Jack! You don't know how glad I am to see you are well! We were worried I'd hit you too hard. I had to. It was the only way we could smuggle you to safety. The guards would have dragged you straight from the Isla de Muerta to the gallows if you had come with us, and I knew you would not have trusted us to come back for you when even the _Pearl_ had left. But it's all right now."

Sparrow returned the smile and closed his eyes again. "As usual your honesty is wasted, Turner. You're not real."

"Believe what you like, Jack, but I still got you out from under Norrington's nose."

The pirate sat up and looked confidently at his blacksmith ally. "No you didn't. They caught me, let me fester in the cells 'til morning and then put the rope around my neck. I know that much."

Will chuckled. "That didn't happen Jack. It's all in your head. You've been unconscious long enough, it's a wonder anything makes sense. With Elizabeth's help we got you to Port Royal. If fortune favours, we'll have you shipped out to Tortuga and you'll be back with your crew before anyone finds out you're still alive."

Sparrow's eyes widened. "Port Royal? Even if you did get me past the guards, the mouse 'as been dropped in the bleedin' cat's basket." He glanced about and smirked. "This is Elizabeth's room, is it not?"

"Yes."

Jack swivelled to place his boots firmly upon the carpet and stood up, his sly grin broadening. "I remember the previous governor. He 'ad a daughter too." He stepped closer to Turner in slow, provocative movements. "Shy little thing, shining eyes, curling hair, had a lot of -," he cupped his hands suggestively, but danced his fingers away with the subject, "agreeable qualities. Not as fiery as Miss Swann, but I'm sure I could warm up to her standards. After all, if she's seen fit to allow a wanted criminal to sleep in her bedchamber, she can hardly be considered unsullied." He locked eyes with Will before circling him, enhancing the guttural tone to his voice. "And where _did_ our dear Elizabeth sleep last night? Not beside me, surely. With you? The daughter of an English governor with a humble blacksmith? Oh what a scandal that would be, especially out of wedlock. But that's how she likes it, isn't it? The danger. The excitement." He completed the circle around Turner, who remained straight-faced throughout. "Which is exactly why she would never choose you, William, over a terrible rogue like me." Jack brought his challenging sneer almost nose to nose with him. "I wonder, does she keep her undergarments in the same neat place as the last little strumpet what rested here, yearning for the affections of a pirate? And this isn't making you even slightly angry, is it?"

Will stared, unfazed. "I know you, Jack. I know you do not mean it."

Jack gritted his teeth. "No, you do _not _know me, Master Turner, but you _would_ know that _I_ know _you _enough to know that you'd be ready to throw me out that window for even half of what I just said. Which reminds me…" He pushed past Will and marched for the bedroom window. Jack threw the curtains aside and looked out at the world. He exhaled wearily.

"Poor little Sparrow," said Will, turning. He stepped up to the pirate and smiled over his shoulder at the vast labyrinth. "You almost thought that you would prove yourself wrong. Even though you fought my illusion every step of the way, you still had hope." The pale brown walls with their extravagant picture frames faded into the damp, mossy stone of the dungeon. Turner's kind face morphed into the cruel beauty of the Queen. She tilted her head with contemplation. "Although, there is one thing out of all this that has been real."

Jack turned to her, all of his scorn dissolved into the wilting expression of futility.

"I _did _save you from the gallows," she hissed.

The pirate managed a small smile of defiance. "I'm sure I would've thought of something."

************************************************************

"Are we there yet?" Willy's voice whined for the fourteenth time, each syllable bouncing around Crane's head like a sugar-crazed wallaby.

"Mr Wonka, you can see very well how far the island is from here. If you would just get some sleep, the time will pass much more swiftly for you."

"I don't feel like it."

"Master Edward is coping well enough."

Wonka fixed Ichabod with an eerie stare. "That's what you think."

Crane glanced at the scissor-handed boy as he trembled in his sleep. "Mr Sparrow implied that he had been through some difficulties," he whispered. "Did the battle have an ill effect on him?"

"Nuh uh, it happened before he got here. Mr Crane, you're lookin' at the loneliest guy you ever did meet and he doesn't deserve a modicum. We might just be the only people in the metaphorical universe to him and by heck is that a lot of pressure!"

Ichabod raised an eyebrow and steeled himself to keep up the pace of the oars. "If you would tell me the story, I have plenty of time to hear it."

Willy shrugged. "Well if he told Jack, he'd tell just about anybody, so sure, I'll spill it. Quietly though, don't wanna wake the poor fella."

With the mock sun melting on the horizon, the boat coasted ever closer to its destination, the chocolatier's dulcet, but slightly irritating, voice recounting the tale that had once been told to him by Mort Rainey. It concluded only a few minutes before they reached the sandy banks.

Crane beached the longboat as far as he could and then stepped out into the shallows, grimacing as his shoes filled with lukewarm water. Taking care not to disturb Edward too greatly, he and Mr Wonka dragged the boat above the shore's tide-line.

"I feel…like my arms intend to fall off," Ichabod wheezed, stumbling towards the edges of the island's foliage. He puzzled over the tropical appearance of the trees despite the coolness of the beach. Insects chirruped and unfamiliar birds hooted from within.

Willy peered into the jungle. "I don't like the looks of this. It's like Loompaland in there." He poked his head through an inch further. "Ow!" He jumped back.

"Mr Wonka? Are you all right?"

"Yeah…" the chocolatier replied, wrinkling his nose. "It's just…hot…in there. Like, I dunno…a wall of sudden climate change, ya know?"

"No, but I am undoubtedly about to find out. Should we wake Master Edward?"

"I'll go," said Willy. He trekked back down the beach towards the boat. He paused, turned, and called back up to the constable. "Uh, well, I _would _wake him, if he was there."

Ichabod started back towards him. "But where can he -?"

He was interrupted by the piercing, elongated yodel that was Sparrow's scream. The pirate dropped out of the sky eight feet above the boundary of the shallows, vanishing below the surface with a tremendous splash. He emerged, spitting water, sediment and a whelk shell. The expression on his face was a deep sulk.

"The hour is up already?" Crane exclaimed. "I am thankful we at least made it to the shore."

Jack slopped up the narrow beach. "I am cold, I am tired, I am hungry and I think there is a starfish in my boot. If I don't resolve at least two of these problems before I 'ave to deal with that harlot princess again, I am going to shoot something." He pointed a dripping finger at Ichabod. "_Don't _let it be you."

Wonka choked back a laugh. "Well if ya just walk two paces in through those trees over there, you'll be warm and dry in a jiff."

Not even sparing the chocolatier a sour look, Jack tramped into the jungle. Crane and Wonka traded a glance before following. The disgruntled pirate captain strode on, the cool droplets he had acquired already beginning to steam from the humidity. His eyes scanned the surroundings for signs of anything edible. Had the light of day been streaming through the palmy canopies, they might have remarked on how beautiful the place was, vibrant with colour and filled with the unadulterated wildness that came with the lack of civilization. As luck would have it, the jungle was thick with a discomfiting darkness. Jack's companions only managed to keep up with him by listening to his footfalls, made heavy and even clumsier with his ire.

"Mr Sparrow," Ichabod called, as loudly as he dared in a strange territory. "Is it wise to travel in such low light? We don't even know what is out there…what is in here with us!"

"R-right," said Wonka. "There could be Whangdoodles!"

"Do they taste good?" Jack growled.

"No!"

The pirate paused to shoot back an incredulous glare, which resulted in Constable Crane walking smack into him. Both of them stumbled, tripping over a wall of ferns. They rolled through a few yards of dense thicket, yelping as they went, until they came to rest on a flat patch of soft leaves.

The constable and the pirate groaned. They raised their heads, pieces of undergrowth lodged in their hair but before they had so much as a chance to speak, the bed of leaves caved in beneath them.

"Jack?" came Ichabod's terrified voice from the blackness. "Are you there?"

"Aye."

"I can't see. I- I think we're in some sort of…"

"Bloody great hole? Once again, Mr Crane, your wisdom never ceases to amaze."

"Look, if we can just work together, maybe -."

"Ow!"

"Oh, I'm sorry! Just… let's try and find our way out…let's see now…"

"Crane…"

"I can't quite reach. It's too high."

"Crane."

"I think one of us will have to -."

"Crane!"

"Yes, Mr Sparrow?"

"Would you be so kind as to _get your bloody boot off my hair!_"

"Oh. My apologies."

"Right. Now what was it you were suggesting?"

"I thought perhaps if you could give me a lift up, I might be able to climb out and bring you up after me."

"That is a _wonderful _plan, but if I might make one minor adjustment?"

"What's that?"

"You give _me _the lift up and I'll be the one to haul you out after, savvy?"

"Well that is refreshing," Crane scoffed. "Working alongside a pirate and he doesn't trust _me_!"

"Shut it and help me up. 'Opefully Mr Wonka won't be far off."

After a few moments of awkward scrabbling, the constable managed to lift the pirate high enough to peer over the edge of the pit.

"Well, Mr Sparrow, is there anyone there?"

As the spear tip wavered in front of his nose, Jack swallowed. "Unquestionably, Mr Crane."


	20. The Tasks of the Tchixoc

The feeling of unstable movement jolted Constable Crane awake. He stared groggily at a fuzzy grey blur above the passing earthen track until he came enough to his senses to realise he was looking down at the back end of a donkey. A further upward tilt of his head showed him the image of a marching line of anthropomorphic jaguars, not dissimilar from the guardian at the beginning of the labyrinth. Each of them bore round shields, tribal spears and large feather headdresses. The nearest warrior snarled. He jumped with fright, which was about the same time he discovered that his arms were bound to his sides and that his back was resting against something distinctly –

"Jack? Is that you?"

The surface that Crane was tied to leaned back against him.

"Aye."

"Are they -?" the constable began, but wisely dismissed the plan to make sense out of their captors. "Where are they taking us?"

"Now that you're awake I don't intend on finding out."

"What happened? Did they hit me?"

Jack grimaced. "No, Mr Crane. Your usual tactical approach to danger presented itself the moment they dragged you out of the pit."

"Oh." There was a short interval in which neither spoke a word, bobbing uselessly back to back on the tribe donkey, before Ichabod said – "Then why does my head grieve me so?"

"Not a clue, mate," replied the pirate, trying to ignore the ache in his own skull from his less than subtle attempts to rouse the constable during the journey.

The surrounding jungle began to thin. The sounds of civilization hummed into range; drums, clacking pots and growling voices mingling with the crackle of campfires and the shrill calls of insects. Most of the marchers scattered upon reaching the edge of the settlement.

Sparrow gasped as vast bronze ziggurats loomed into vision. Great temples overshadowed leafy huts, some structures carved into the faces of waterfall-veiled cliffs. He leaned his head back into Ichabod's and muttered, "Crane, when I count to three, you jump off to your right and I'll jump left."

The constable nearly spluttered. "You want us to run like _this_? That's ludicrous."

"You don't think it'll work?"

"Not a chance."

"Then it's worth a try, i'n'it? Ready?"

"N-!"

"_One-two-three!_"

It was a miracle that they managed to get off the donkey at all, let alone land on their feet. The tail end of the jaguar warriors watched in amazement as the two humans, trussed together at the waists, side-skipped at breakneck speed into the undergrowth. Unluckily, they burst out the other side onto a corner of the village. Unable to slow their momentum, the constable and the pirate gasped before crashing through the grass wall of a large hut. They landed hard on their sides on solid earth.

"Well you two took your darn time!"

The floored humans looked up in surprise to see Mr Wonka sitting at a table with several jaguars. He seemed perfectly at ease and was holding a wooden cup with a little paper umbrella sticking out of its top. The feather headdresses of the jaguars here tilted downwards and flowed past their shoulders like hair. Bangles and trinkets adorned their wrists, ankles and tails. They stared, golden-eyed, at the intruders.

"Mr Wonka?" Ichabod said, aghast. "Are you all right?"

"Why I'm just swell, Mr Crane, and the hospitality of these ladies has been wonderful."

"Hospitality?" muttered Jack.

"L-ladies?" stammered Crane.

One of the jaguar-people rose from her seat. She picked up a sharp knife from the table and moved towards the terrified duo lying on the ground. She knelt down and cut through the ropes. Warily, the constable and the pirate got up and straightened themselves out.

"Don't suppose they've got any food knockin' around?" Jack posited.

At these words, a loud yowl sounded outside. The jaguars exchanged glances. The one that had released the bound humans ushered Jack and Ichabod in the direction of the hut's exit. The other two left their seats and gestured to Mr Wonka to do the same. The creatures accompanied them out into the village where they hailed some other members of the jaguar tribe. Members with spears.

"Those are the ones that tied us to the donkey!" Jack hissed. "Run!" He spun on his heel to do the very thing but a stern she-jaguar blocked his path. Jaguar warriors stepped out from every corner, moving in to form a great circle around the humans. They were pushed into the centre, within the light of a bright campfire, Mr Wonka still sipping at his cocktail cup. The circle parted opposite them to allow entrance for a stocky tribesmember with a mohawk of feathers. This beast had white symbols painted on his dark face and wore a belt of curved fangs. Unlike the rest of the tribe, his spotted fur was almost black like a panther's.

"This is home of Tchixoc clan. Shaman of the Grail said you would come. Shaman said you seek path through the Labyrinth?"

Ichabod, having got over the initial shock that the walking jaguar could speak, responded, "That is correct. Do you know the way?"

"Tchixoc only know path through mountains. After that, you might find a guide in the marshes. I understand your bearded friend requests food. Shaman tells us there is none in the mountains."

"We are all at least a little hungry, to be candid," said Crane. "We would be grateful if there is anything you could offer us."

The chief stared at Ichabod with solemnity. "The food of the Tchixoc must only be eaten by Tchixoc. To eat, you must become one with clan."

"Well, it does not seem as though we have an alternative. What must we do to...as you say...become Tchixoc?"

"Every becoming-Tchixoc faces three trials. Trials based on one of candidate's flaws of character. Only one test need be won but you must still stand all three before you may know those you passed."

"A-are they dangerous?"

The chief smiled. "No more so than leaving on empty stomach. Will you face tests?"

Ichabod looked to the pirate and the chocolatier. They nodded. Jack cried out in pain shortly afterwards as the pointy end of a paper umbrella jabbed through his dreadlocks.

Over the top of a cheerful 'Oops, my bad', Constable Crane said to the chief, "We will take the trials."

The black jaguar bowed his head in acknowledgement. "You will each be taken to different section of village to prevent interference between trials. Wait alone until someone comes for you. Then you will begin." He gave a feral yowl and dispersed the circle. The humans were led away in individual directions, two passing one another a nod of anxious farewell and the other, with the silly haircut, smiling brightly without even a backward glance.

***************************************************************

It was a disconcerting feeling being alone in the dark when one had become used to constant company. Even during the four-hourly stint in the dungeon, whilst the other presence was anything but pleasant, it masked the hollow fear that lurked within. Ichabod sat upon a stool that was marginally too small for him, hands fidgeting nervously. The only light inside the hut was a lantern hanging over the entrance, around which a few moths fluttered. He wondered how much time was passing all the while they waited in this place, whether the Goblin Queen had truly given them enough time to cross the landscape ahead, or whether it would turn out to be a horribly sick joke.

It was not long, however, before the melanistic jaguar chief stepped through the doorway and gestured for the constable to come out.

"Come. Your first trial has been prepared."

Crane took in a slow breath and allowed himself to be led into an open space within the borders of the village. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the area, no items placed to indicate what was expected of him. The chief bade him stand in the centre of the clearing, to watch the stars, and then the jaguar left. Ichabod glanced about at the seemingly empty quadrant of village before letting his gaze drift upward. The stars in this world had more patterns than those of home. Not a single one lay apart from a constellation, forced into ironic dot-to-dot shapes. A wolf grinned down at him, its starry eyes twinkling. A sketched eagle soared further across the sky, alongside a dancing girl. She had a cruel smile.

A feline snarl echoed from the surrounding darkness. Crane started. Without any further warning, there came the thundering of two-score paws from all directions, racing straight for him. The constable gave out a nigh silent whimper. He panicked. There was no escape. They rushed in from all sides. No more time left, Ichabod threw his hands over his head and dropped into a crouch.

***************************************************************

Mr Wonka jiggled impatiently in his seat, tapping his cane on the floor. He had been a little put out at not being allowed a refill for his cup and was growing increasingly bored with sitting around when there was a whole culture outside begging to be explored.

A giggle came from the entrance to his hut. There was a jaguar child standing there, arms folded, head tipped mischievously. He had gold hoops fixed to his rounded ears and a short cloth skirt below his waist. The child beckoned for the chocolatier to follow. Unwilling to ignore his curiosity, Willy obliged.

The young jaguar took him a short distance out of the village to a patch of damp, sparse jungle that gave way into oily mud. The child pointed across the black goo to a small island, upon which was a pedestal. Perched on top of this was a shining gold idol.

"Fetch toy," the child instructed.

Willy squinted at the glinting item. "Sure. Just tell me where the bridge is and I'll get right on it."

The little jaguar folded his arms again and smirked.

Mr Wonka frowned. "Okay then, how about a rope?" Pause. "No rope, huh? A canoe? Raft? Helicopter? Stilts? Emu? Goshdarn pogo stick?"

Each of these suggestions of transport was met with a strict shake of the head and an insistent paw-jabbing towards the pedestal. Willy pulled a look of distaste and turned to the lake of mud. He stepped closer with his almost pristine shoes. He gulped. Gingerly, he removed his footwear and placed them aside along with his hat, cane and coat. The chocolatier edged nearer the mud. It gave a welcoming _gloop_. Baring his teeth anxiously, he looked back to the jaguar cub.

"How do I know it's safe? That stuff could just suck me under, ya know? If I die there's gonna be a whole lotta disappointed children out there."

The jaguar shrugged. Mr Wonka scowled.

"Pushy little fuzzball. You just wait 'til I tell your m-m- your ol' lady!"

The cat sniggered.

The chocolatier sighed, bit his lip, and slowly lowered one foot into the swamp. The black gunk squelched between his manicured toes. He flinched. He screwed his eyes shut and eased his other leg into the mud.

It had to happen. The jaguar cub crept up behind him, a glint in his infantile eyes, and slammed his paws into the unwitting human's back. With an almighty shriek, Mr Wonka fell face-first into the gunge.

************************************************************

"What the 'ell am I s'posed to do with that?"

Jack had been pacing restlessly in his designated hut, the hunger-fuelled adrenaline rendering him unable to sit lest he never wish to rise again. When the chief made his entrance he presented the pirate with a thick staff of bamboo. The black-furred warrior did not reply but shoved the stick towards him. Jack placed his hands underneath its middle and clasped. No sooner had the staff been relinquished, Sparrow gasped and dropped it.

"Bugger me if that ain't 'eavy. What's in it? Lead?"

"Yes."

The pirate gave the jaguar a blank stare. Not receiving any further guidance, he bent down and lifted the staff. Once he had mastered the strength to wield it, he gave a grin and wheezed, "What now?"

The chief indicated for Jack to leave the hut.

"Right you are."

Sparrow strode for the doorway. Having reached it, he pivoted about and gave a disingenuous smile. "'Tis not me wish to offend nor mar your customs in any fashion, mate, but I don't suppose you'd be enough of a diamond to offer any sound advice? A hint or two about what I am to be dealing with, eh?"

The stone-faced silence he got in response was interrupted as something snatched hold of the back of his hair and dragged him outside. Jack stumbled into the village, nearly overbalancing with the weight of the staff. He found himself pressed into a circle of spectators. No. Not a circle. A circular _wall_, and it wasn't about to part for him. A truly enormous jaguar warrior stood in the arena with him, muscles bulging like potato sacks. His fur was peppered with piercings, the vast majority of them being silver barbs. In his robust paws he held a great oaken club, at the end of which protruded a mean axe blade. The gladiator roared at the pirate, sending up a violent shower of sputum.

Jack swallowed.

"Oh _bugger_."


	21. Stripped

_**A/N:** A long time in coming. My apologies as usual. At last I have me own study, so one would hope I'll get a chappie out every couple of weeks or so. Hope ye enjoy, please R&R (that's read and review to you newbies) so that, particularly if ye enjoy it, other readers might take a peek! Ta muchly -x-_

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"Little man in waistcoat," a voice growled out of the darkness. "Wake up."

Constable Crane started from unconsciousness and shot into a sitting position. "Yes, Father. Sorry, Father." He glanced about at the circle of jaguar warriors kneeling around him and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Was that the first test?" he asked.

The circle nodded.

As he suspected. "How soon before the next?"

The circle parted at the edge he faced and held their torches up to illuminate the entrance to a cave in the cliffside. Apparently they had taken the liberty of moving him during his faint. He was really going to have to get over that reaction of his. He had lost count now of how many times he had conked out on their journey.

"Follow path through cave and sit in stone chair. When we sound gong, you can come out," said one of the warriors.

Ichabod got to his feet and crept towards the cave, swallowing. He glanced back timidly at the watching broken circle. "It is rather dark in there. May I have a torch?"

"Torch in bracket just inside cave mouth. You must light on fire halfway in. More torches near stone chair. You may light when you bring lit torch to them." The jaguar intoned the 'may' in a disconcerting fashion.

"Very well," said the constable. He bit his lip and proceeded into the cave. Dripping resounded along the path, the air smelling of damp and sated mosses. His hands groped at the walls, searching for the means to light his way. His fingers located the clasp of the metal bracket and he lifted the wooden torch free. Ahead he could see the distant glimmer of fire. Willing himself onward, Crane moved deeper in, closer towards the lightly crackling flames. Other sounds began to reach his senses, faint rustling, mostly drowned out by the roar of the waterfall further across the cliff. Just plants being upset by the water, he told himself. The shadows felt as though they were crawling. Just his imagination.

At last Ichabod arrived at the basin of fire at the halfway point. It sat upon a pedestal, waiting for him to dip his torch inside. Gently, he moved the end of the torch into the fire and let the flames catch. He chanced a glimpse of the exit – it was still there – and continued on the path. The rustlings grew louder; he pressed himself to believe that it was just the fall echoing strangely. He was already trembling, jumping at every droplet that splattered his head.

Crane reached the chamber at the end of the path. The rustling was horribly loud and the room plunged in darkness, which his torch seemed to do little to alleviate. The silhouette of the great stone throne could be seen in the centre and to one side of the room he thought he could see another pedestal, this one unlit. He was drawn to the basin, despite the gnawing dread that clustered in his stomach. His shaking hand tilted the torch into the basin. The flames flared high, throwing back the blanket of shadow.

Ichabod dropped the torch. Terror gripped his every muscle, hardly bearing to let his eyes take in what he had hoped against hope were not there. The top half of every wall and every inch of the ceiling of the chamber were swarming with spiders. Big, small, hairy, black, spindly, darting, sitting, watching, climbing, _crawling_! The constable stammered unintelligible syllables and teetered backwards from the nearest wall, only stopping when he backed into the stone chair.

Something _moved_ behind him.

Crane's eyes widened to their full extent. He didn't know why he turned around. He wished he hadn't. He stepped slowly around and stared levelly into the compound eyes of a gigantic tarantula.

******************************************************************

A gloop-coated glove slapped what had once been a golden trinket, now liberally slobbered with black slime, into the jaguar child's paw. The Mr Wonka-shaped mud man glowered at the little creature.

"There, ya happy?" he grumbled.

The cub giggled.

"Well come on, scoot, let's zip through this already." He tried to ignore the mocking sounds of the ooze dripping from him. "Next test."

The jaguar put on a more solemn expression and nodded. "You wash up in lagoon first, then meet back in village centre." It turned to leave.

"Hey, wait! Little kitten!" Willy called. His response was a deadly glare. "Uh," he gulped. "About my other clothes? My hat…coat…? Can you or one of your little buddies come pick them up so's they don't get all dirty?"

The jaguar merely stared for a full minute and then vanished back through the forest.

"Okay then…" Wonka blathered nervously. "I'll just go get them myself, shall I? Yeah…just go get them…okay…" He squelched over to his mostly unblemished accessories and, hardly daring to look, peeled off his gungy gloves in order to pick up what he so dearly valued.

Grimacing all the way, he hurried back to the village, arms outstretched to keep his coat and hat from contamination. The cane was easier to wash. The Tchixoc were not particularly helpful in directing him to the lagoon but it had been a fair assumption that it lay at the foot of the cliffs. Once there, Willy placed his effects delicately aside from the still waters and tested them for signs of dangerous life with a hurled stone. Satisfied, he stripped in a hedge, not quite sure why he needed to be so modest when the mud caking him was so opaque, and slipped into the water. He took the muddied clothes with him, unaware that amused, yellow eyes watched, and gave them a good scrub before placing upon the bank to dry and turning his attention to his own skin. The chocolatier bathed childishly, splashing with vigour, holding his nose and dunking below the surface.

Once he was as squeaky clean as he could get, chocolate-toned hair pasted flat to his scalp, Willy swam back to the edge of the lagoon. His suddenly anxious eyes scanned the grass for his garments. "What in the heck -?" Desperately he scooted back and forth in the water, hoping his sight was providing a momentary deception. They weren't there.

Then he saw it. Sitting alone on the bank was his hat, nothing more. Feeling nauseous, Mr Wonka paddled up as close as he could get.

"Hey!" he called out to the village. "You rotten snozzberries, gimme my clothes back!"

After a few minutes, the jaguar child appeared. "You supposed to meet me," it said, grinning.

Willy scowled. "Yeah, well, that ain't happening when I don't have a stitch nor thread to wear! I mean, haha, ya won't catch _me _walkin' around butt naked, gosh golly no siree!"

The cub's grin widened to include its teeth. Mr Wonka's face demolished.

"Go find clothes," it said. "All in village." It snickered, leant down near Wonka's top hat and flicked it towards the lagoon.

Muttering sourly, Willy caught his hat and emerged from the pool. He swiftly used his headwear to snatch the only morsel of decency he had been allowed and trudged, dripping cleanly this time, into the village.

He had not gone far on his quest to regain his propriety when a certain constable burst into the camp, whiter than he had ever been even when faced with the Headless Horseman, screaming in a less than masculine manner. Needless to say, whether or not he had intended to pause for breath, Ichabod ceased yelling when he saw the chocolatier.

"M-m-mister W-Wonka?" he gasped.

"What?" Willy snapped.

"I…" Crane's hair was splayed out from the extremity of his fear. He could not find the words to speak. He managed a feeble, "Nnnhh?"

Mr Wonka sucked his teeth, not in the mood to console the constable over whatever he had just been through. It could not possibly be as humiliating as this.

"Mr Crane," he hissed. "This is not me, I am no way in a flutin' tootin' winglebat striding through a jungle _au naturel_. You didn't see me, you never talked to me, do I make myself absoposalutely _clear_?"

Ichabod grimaced, too bemused and terror-stricken to laugh. "Er…abso…yes, perfectly c-clear."

With a firm nod, the chocolatier strode off in search of dignity and left the constable to whimper alone.

**************************************************************

Jack threw himself into a sideways spin as the axe blade arced down and bit a chunk out of the soil where he stood. The momentum of the weighted pole almost made him career into the wall of jaguars. As a precaution, the 'wall' raised its myriad paws and out of each feline toe whipped out claws. With a yelp, the pirate strained against the teetering force and brought the pole down. The impact with the earth jarred his bones painfully. His arm strength gave way and he collapsed, spiralling down the upright staff until he hit the ground. Nigh on instantly he rolled aside, avoiding another swipe of the gladiator's weapon. Dizzy from so much spinning, Jack scrambled to his feet and stood with the soil-embedded pole in between him and the great jaguar. He grasped the haft with tentative hands. The club part of the warrior's weapon thrust forward. Jack jumped aside, hands still gripping the bamboo staff.

The jaguar narrowed its eyes, standing still. Jack returned its gaze, calculating. The axe blade tilted; ready to hew both pirate and the pole that blocked its path. The gladiator's arm drew back. Sparrow gave one brief glance of alarm before he dropped down. The axe cleaved through the top half of the staff, skimming an inch above his head. Jack dove through the gap between the warrior's legs, leapt upright and snatched hold of the cat's tail, taking care not to catch any barbs with his fingers. The wall gasped. With a yowl, the gladiator whirled around to slice at his attacker. Jack ducked and ran rings around the jaguar, pulling its tail as he went. The huge cat roared its anguish and hurled its club-axe, not at the pirate, but just before his dashing feet.

Too late to prevent it, Jack tripped and sprawled across the floor. In triumph, the jaguar seized its weapon and wielded it high above its opponent. The bludgeoning edge rose skyward and – stayed. The solemn beast stared down into the barrel of a pistol.

"Drop it!" said Jack.

Growling begrudgingly, the gladiator lowered the weapon before releasing it entirely. Jack got to his feet, keeping the flintlock trained on the warrior.

"Granted it's not exactly original of me to keep pullin' the same trick, but you got to admit, works like a charm. Now, no more tryin' to chop ol' Captain Jack into mincemeat, all right?" He crept as close as he dared to the hulking beast. "An' just as a matter o' security…" The pistol spun in his fingers, the backend clonked hard between the gladiator's ears. Jack sidestepped as the comatose cat fell. Sparrow let the currently useless pistol drift to his side and looked to the surrounding circle of jaguars, wondering if they would take up where the fallen warrior left off.

The slow, yet mockingly appreciative, clapping sounded at about the same instance that the wall sheathed its claws. The edge of the circle nearest the central campfire parted. The tinkling and shifting of trinkets and skirts whispered in Jack's ears as the silhouette approached.

"Well, well, eef et eesn't my dearest Sparrow I coom to discover."

As if to share in the Captain's surprise, the abandoned pole chose that moment to topple from its vertical position.

"Tia Dalma…"

The ethereal voodoo priestess, in all her disturbing dark beauty, moved into the light of the fire and gave Jack a taunting smile. "Yayss. Were you expectink someone else?"

"Oh only a fleeting nuisance of a goblin hierarch hiding be'ind the face of a gaudy strumpet," the pirate answered wistfully, his eyes glazing over. Blissfully ignoring the feline crowd, Jack drew towards Tia. Tendrils of power from this latent goddess beckoned him closer, fogging his admittedly doused brain with a thousand sultry promises. "Nothing we need concern ourselves with."

Tia uttered a patronising half laugh. "Indeed." She curled a finger towards her and turned away coquettishly. "Wid me now," she instructed softly.

The spell faltered momentarily. Jack stepped up to her, eyes narrowing, searching for trickery. Tia outmatched his stare with an abyssal attack of her own.

"Jack Sparrow does not want a reward for hees trouble?"

The Captain blinked, suddenly appearing lost. His gaze drifted downward. He realised his pistol had been raised vertically in between them. She cast her eye-line upon it and smirked. He swallowed, gave an awkward, wincing smile, and then holstered it before looking to her once again. Tia smiled in return and inclined her head.

"Dis way, den…"

Jack followed her to a hut that emanated with sense-caressing aromas, his entranced eyes betraying sparkles that would make his production company envious.


	22. The Centre of Attention

**A/N: **_Short, but not quite sweet. Happy Birthday to me darlin' RaggyDollPirate! -x-_

* * *

Meanwhile, inside a hut at the edges of the village, a jaguar-wife and her cub stared at the man that had appeared in the middle of their one room. Pineapple pith dribbled from the little one's chin and remained unwiped. It was too distracted by the gleaming of the blades that formed the suddenly existent man's hands. Edward looked about nervously, lips pursed tight. These creatures were entirely new to him. He had not even heard of a normal jaguar and instead likened them to housecats. Unfortunately this did not help his anxiety.

The cub dropped his pineapple and ran out of the hut. Edward looked to the mother. Her ears had flattened and her eyes were wide with alarm. He stepped forward, trying to show her he meant no harm but she fled after her son, letting out a feline wail. Edward scuttled in timid pursuit, his scissors chittering. Why did everyone have to fear him? The young man only ever seemed to get more disheartened by people. They shouted and ran, and that usually meant a larger group would start running _toward _him. Those kinds were never nice.

He stumbled out into the open and was overcome with the sight of the jungle village. Trees had never been so green, the canopy was alive with loud, strange birds of which he caught a few glimpses between the leaves. Jaguar women passed by with urns of water balanced on their heads, unaware of the creature that watched them. Tears formed in Edward's eyes at the beauty of the place. How different this was from Suburbia.

Well, not quite…

A tumult of snarls reached his ears before a band of jaguar warriors stampeded in his direction, waving spears. Terrified, Edward put up his arms, raising his fearsome blades to the sky. The jaguars thrust their spears at him, keeping him at a distance as they tried to determine what he was. The more they jabbed, the more Edward's scissors clattered, causing them to growl and bring their spearpoints closer.

"Hey!"

Mr Wonka came darting out of the village. Rushing to Edward's side, he glared at the jaguars. "Leave him alone! He's with us." The cats stepped back, confused. They looked at the chocolatier quizzically. Edward stared.

"Well what in the world are you all lookin' at?" Willy demanded. He glanced down at himself, his coat wrapped tightly about him, legs visible from his knees to muddy toes. He grimaced. "When I find my shirt and pants, there's goin' to be some serious tongue-waggin', golly you betcha."

The jaguars said nothing. Two stepped forward, looking directly at Edward. "Trial."

Mr Wonka saw the boy looking to him. "It's all right. You go with them. Do their lame tests and we can get this over with."

"Lame?" Edward asked, but Willy ignored him and pushed him into the jaguars' custody. The boy was led away through the village, unable to see where his half-dressed friend had wandered.

Having arrived at the central campfire, the warriors deserted Edward and returned to their chores. The boy gazed into the flames with wonder.

"Man with tool hands," a voice boomed nearby. Edward turned to see the tribe leader. His fur was a splendid sheen of darkness in comparison to the others. This jaguar was not afraid. "You must complete first task. Come." The creature began to walk. Feeling a small sense of comfort from the jaguar's steady directness, Edward began to follow.

* * *

"If only Tortuga could 'ave such hospitality."

Stretched luxuriously on a sea of cushions, Jack grinned, eyes rolled back in ecstasy. The scene did not fit with the primitive world outside but who was he to complain? Wenches in French burlesque cooed about the pirate, fanning him with palm leaves and kneading his shoulders. Stubby candles were arrayed about the hut to dissipate the gloom.

"De Captain approves of de service?" Tia Dalma spoke from across the room. She was perched, almost jarringly, upon a wooden swing – its ropes garlanded with white flowers, reaching up to the upper framework of the hut.

"The Captain _does _approve." Sparrow turned his gaze to her and gave a small pout. "I don't suppose there's any sustenance on offer?"

She shook her head. "Dat I kennot help you wid. Aldough, perhaps I ken provide you instead wid a distraction?"

Jack levered himself up to rest on his elbows. He raised an eyebrow and pushed away a leaf from an over-enthusiastic fanner. "What sort of distraction?"

Tia Dalma grinned wickedly, displaying her frightful teeth. "Dat would be telling."

The pirate swallowed. "Darlin', I'm deeply moved, but the last time you an' I tried anything of the sort, you got rather carried away and well-nigh dropped me off the mortal coil."

The witch smirked and turned her face to the hut's entrance. "Kita." Through the curtained opening came a young woman of flawless beauty. Her eyes were bright, her white blonde hair soft and long, a slim waist balanced dainty curves. She had the shy countenance of a doe, trapped within the feathery garments of a belly dancer.

Tia smiled at Jack. "Kita is de new girl around dese parts. She has much to learn when it come to de want of a man. Who better den, to teach her, den de famous Jack Sparrow?"

The pirate could only stare. In response, Tia Dalma vacated the swing and made for the door. The courtesans followed. "Acquaint wid her, Sparrow, den we will see aboot your next challenge." Tia stepped backwards through the curtain and left him alone with Kita. She stood, eyes cast downward. Her ensemble was made entirely of blue, purple and green feathers, trembling about her brassiere, her tiny skirt and banding her wrists, ankles and the tops of her arms.

Unable to come up with a better method of introduction, Jack gestured to a jug of wine near his boot. "Care for a drink?"

Kita met his eyes briefly, gave a nervous smile and approached. The pirate sat up and filled a couple of goblets as she seated herself beside him. She took the offered vessel gratefully. He watched her drink, fascinated. She choked.

"I, I'm sorry," she said, her voice almost too gentle. She wiped wine from her lips. "I'm not certain of where to start."

"Is certainty necess'ry?" Jack shifted close to her. "A fine and dreary thing life would be were we to know the outcome of every move. If it is normal to be uncertain, then where is one to go wrong?"

Kita smiled again, curious about the prepossessing pirate and his persuasive expression. "To think," she said sadly. "If times had not been so hard and had I not lost my chance to marry into nobler society, I might never have been able to meet someone as esteemed as you."

Already Jack's conscience was arguing with itself. Rarely did he spend nights with women who were not certain of themselves, even when the general populace considered them already spoiled. It was too cruel. Long had he accepted that the eighteenth century world did not lie in the hands of mortal women, but what satisfaction was there unless the woman truly wanted him more than the money he offered? However, Jack was still feeling peculiarly entranced and the several previous glasses of wine were not helping.

"All the more fortunate for me then, ay?"

She took a gulp of wine and blinked as its effects rushed to her head. She giggled, giddy with nerves. "So you are a pirate? What's that like?"

Lounging once again upon the cushions, Sparrow fixed his dark eyes to her shimmering blue. "Perilous," he said softly, fully intending to send a chill through her. "Free on the open, endless that threatens your existence every moment you dare to cross it. Going where you please, doing what you please, _taking_ what you please, crossing blades, dodging shots, frightening fair maidens…"

Lost to the wine and his words, Kita let the goblet slip out of her fingers and fell upon the Captain.

* * *

"Oh for pity's sake, is that all pirates think about?"

Ichabod tore his gaze away from the crystal in the Goblin Queen's palm.

"Are you a pirate, Constable?"

"What ever do you me-?" Crane turned at the recognition of the voice. Katrina smiled back at him. "Do not look like that."

"Do you not think of me that way, Ichabod?"

He averted his eyes. "You are not Katrina."

'Katrina' snorted a laugh. "No, I am better. What use is a snivelling little country girl to a man so weak-kneed as you? With her floaty voice and childish thoughts. How is it such a simple mind can be a match for yours?"

"My love for Katrina is not rooted in the brain."

"Evidently not." The Goblin Queen shifted form into her natural appearance before peering into the crystal at Jack and Kita. "I can't see that you and she will last. She will drift from you if you take her out of her environment. New York is far different from Sleepy Hollow. There were no pickings. Better to stay here." She twirled the crystal and passed it from hand o hand, allowing it to sparkle. Images of fantastic birds flickered within. "I can give you anything you want. Simply prevent the others from continuing, and you may live here in grandeur."

Ichabod set his jaw and glowered. "We will overcome this place, madam. I will return to Sleepy Hollow."

The Queen stepped close to the constable. "But, Ichabod, how ever will you protect her when you can't even face this?"

He should not have turned, no matter the dread he felt at the sound. Crane looked to the ruler of the Labyrinth and saw the face of a gigantic spider, fangs dripping overdramatically with venom. He screamed and scrambled into a corner of the cell where he huddled, whimpering.

Reverted to her mortal shape, the Queen gave a sharp-toothed grin. "Farewell, Constable. I have another engagement with Mr Sparrow." Her skin tone melted into the darkest brown, her hair became thick and braided. The raven black cloak morphed into grey folds and scattered trinkets. "I t'ink it is time he faced de last of his trials."


End file.
